A  Story  of 
Theatrical 


George  H-Brennan 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


u 


(XQ  c 
--, 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


.       (+e~ 
i—  ,      / 

" 


XVV 


BILL  TRUETELL 

A  STORY  OF 
THEATRICAL  LIFE 


"  BII.T.  SMII.KD  ri'ox  THE  SHHIXKIM;  FKM-HKSO  REASSURINGLY  THAT  THE 
RADIAXCE  FROM  HIS  KINDLY  COUNTKNAXI-K  DUIKD  HEH  KYKS."  [Page  22] 


BILL  TRUETELL 


A  STORY  OF  THEATRICAL  LIFE 


BY 

GEORGE  H.  BRENNAN 


WITH      FRONTISPIECE      IN      COLOR     AND     TWENTY-THREE 
DRAWINGS  IN  THE  TEXT  BY  JAMES  MONTGOMERY  FLAGG 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 
1909 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA' 
DAVIS 


COPYRIGHT 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 

1909 
PUBLISHED   FEBRUARY,    1909 


£fje  ILafewtor 

I.  R.  DONNELLEY  &  SONS  COMPANY 
CHICAGO 


TO 

MARION  ASHWORTH  BRENNAN 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  LAUNCHING  "THE  GAY  GOTHAMITES"    .      .  11 

II.  THE  LITTLE  VAN  BALKEN 18 

HI.  Miss  SNAPPER'S  FOOT 26 

IV.  SOME  SUCCESSFUL  EXPEDIENTS      ....  37 

V.  MINE  HOST  GOES  ALONG 56 

VI.  AN  ADDITION  TO  THE  COMPANY       ....  65 

VII.  THE  SINGING  LANDLORDS 75 

VIII.  DEBUT  OF  THE  NEW  MALE  CHORUS     ...  87 

IX.  THE  MECCA  OF  VERMONT 93 

X.  A  "  LEGITIMATE"  STAR 103 

XI.  A  GIRL  BECOMES  SACRED 114 

XII.  FORT  BENSON  SURRENDERS 121 

XIII.  THE  NEW  "OP'RY"  HOUSE 134 

XIV.  PLAYING  "SHE  STOOPS" 145 

XV.  THENEW"OSRIC" 158 

XVI.  THE  RIVAL  OF  SHAKESPEARE 170 

XVII.  DOING  THE  DANE 180 

XVIII.  PUSSY  AND  THE  PRINCE 190 

XIX.  THE  MIGHTY  FALLEN 200 

XX.  COUNTING  THE  TIES  221 


XXI.    DOWN  AND  OUT 
XXII.     THE  IMP  OF  SUICIDE 


243 

258 


XXIII.  MAKING  His  "LAST  JUMP" 266 

XXIV.  BILL  IN  HEAVEN       . 275 

[vii] 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

"BILL  GAZED  UPON  THE  SHRINKING  FIGURE  so  RE 
ASSURINGLY  THAT  THE  RADIANCE  FROM  HIS 
KINDLY  COUNTENANCE  DRIED  HER  EYES  "  Frontispiece 

"GAZING    INQUIRINGLY    AT    HIS    WEATHER-BEATEN 

IMAGE" 13 

"'WHAT!     You  WANT  YOUR  FEE  BEFORE  YOU'VE 

ATTENDED  TO  THE  CASE?'" 29 

"THE  STATION  AGENT  STARED  ABOUT  LIKE  A  PERSON 

AWAKENING  FROM  A  TRANCE" 48 

"SHE  CONDESCENDED  TO  NOTICE  HIS  PRESENCE  BY 

ASKING, 'Is  IT  HEAVY?'" 61 

'"BEG  PARDON,'  APOLOGIZED  THE  MANAGER,  'Gusss 

I  VE  INTRUDED  ' ' 71 

"  THEY  WERE  IN  TRUTH  A  SINGULAR  EXHIBIT  "  79 

"  'THEY  MUST  BE  ON,'  HE  MUTTERED  IN  AGITATION, 

PRESSING  HIS  EAR  CLOSER  TO  THE  KEYHOLE  "  .      .       91 

"His  BAGGAGE  AND  SCENERY  STACKED  IN  THE  SHAPE 

OF  A  MOUND  " 98 

"  'COME  WITH  ME,  TRUETELL.     I  NEED  A  MANAGER'  "      109 

"THE  LITTLE  VAN  BALKEN  FOLDED  HER  ARMS,  STRUT 
TING  TRAGICALLY  ABOUT  THE  ROOM"  .  .  .  .118 

"  'An,    RUPE,'    HE   EXCLAIMED.     '  MY  OLD   FRIEND 

RUPE!'" 132 

COLONEL  FROTHINGHAM 137 

"THERE  WAS  A  LOUD  CRASH,  AND  LADY  AND  TREE 

WENT  OVER  TOGETHER" 153 

[ix] 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

"BILL  GAZED  UPON  THE  SHRINKING  FIGURE  so  RE 
ASSURINGLY  THAT  THE  RADIANCE  FROM  HIS 
KINDLY  COUNTENANCE  DRIED  HER  EYES  "  Frontispiece 

"GAZING    INQUIRINGLY    AT    HIS    WEATHER-BEATEN 

IMAGE" 13 

"'WHAT!     You  WANT  YOUR  FEE  BEFORE  YOU'VE 

ATTENDED  TO  THE  CASE?'" 29 

"THE  STATION  AGENT  STARED  ABOUT  LIKE  A  PERSON 

AWAKENING  FROM  A  TRANCE" 48 

"SHE  CONDESCENDED  TO  NOTICE  HIS  PRESENCE  BY 

ASKING, 'Is  IT  HEAVY?'"       .  61 

"'BEG  PARDON,'  APOLOGIZED  THE  MANAGER,  'GUESS 

I  VE  INTRUDED  ' ' 71 

"  THEY  WERE  IN  TRUTH  A  SINGULAR  EXHIBIT  "  79 

"  'THEY  MUST  BE  ON,'  HE  MUTTERED  IN  AGITATION, 

PRESSING  HIS  EAR  CLOSER  TO  THE  KEYHOLE  "  .      .       91 

"His  BAGGAGE  AND  SCENERY  STACKED  IN  THE  SHAPE 

OF  A  MOUND" 98 

"  'COME  WITH  ME,  TRUETELL.    I  NEED  A  MANAGER'  "     109 

"THE  LITTLE  VAN  BALKEN  FOLDED  HER  ARMS,  STRUT 
TING  TRAGICALLY  ABOUT  THE  ROOM"  .  .  .  .118 

"'An,    RUPE,'    HE   EXCLAIMED.     'MY  OLD   FRIEND 

RUPE!'" 132 

COLONEL  FROTHINGHAM 137 

"THERE  WAS  A  LOUD  CRASH,  AND  LADY  AND  TREE 

WENT  OVER  TOGETHER" 153 

M 


ILLUSTRATIONS— Continued 

"*You  'RE  FIVE  MINUTES  LATE,*  HE  GROWLED"  .  .  167 
"  *I  'M  PLEASED  TO  SEE  You,  PLEASED  TO  SEE  You ' "  173 
"SHE  STEPPED  BACK  IN  PRETTY  CONFUSION,  SEEKING 

THE  CLOSE  SHELTER  OF  THE  WALL"    ....      183 
"MR.  STEELSON  WAS  PETRIFIED  IN  THE  TRAGIC  ATTI 
TUDE  HE  HAD  STRUCK"    191 

"'YE  GODS!    YE  GODS!'" 217 

"THE  STAR  STRAIGHTWAY  DROPPED  ON  ONE  KNEE, 

AND  RAISED  HER  HEAD 239 

"THE   HAND   OF  THE   MANAGER   MET  THE   WARM 

CLASP  OF  THE  STAR  " 253 

"WITH  HIS  HAT  PULLED  Low  ON  HIS  FOREHEAD, 
AND    HIS    OVERCOAT    COLLAR    TURNED    HIGH 

ABOUT  HIS  NECK 267 

"SHE  DROPPED  TO  HER  KNEES  BY  HIS  BEDSIDE"  281 


BILL  TRUETELL 


BILL  TRUETELL 

CHAPTER  I 

LAUNCHING  "THE  GAY  GOTHAM1TES" 

BILL  TRUETELL  stood  in  front  of  a  discolored 
mirror  that  rested  on  an  equally  discolored 
bureau  in  his  little  hall-bedroom  three  flights  up 
in  a  theatrical  lodging  house  on  Thirty-eighth  Street, 
New  York.  He  was  dressed  for  the  Rialto  save  the 
adjustment  of  his  black  four-in-hand  tie,  which,  though 
worn  to  a  shiny,  threadbare  state  through  long  and 
faithful  service,  now  stubbornly  refused  to  submit  to 
the  tying  operation.  Holding  an  end  of  the  cravat  in 
each  hand  Bill  pulled  and  strained  until  his  face  grew 
red  and  his  expression  desperate.  Gritting  his  teeth 
he  tugged  at  the  obstinate  tie  as  though  bent  on  self- 
strangulation,  but  all  in  vain.  Obliged  at  last  to 
pause  for  breath,  he  utilized  the  interval  in  making  a 
critical  survey  of  his  features  in  the  looking-glass. 

Bill's  countenance  clearly  bespoke  the  vicissitudes 
of  his  profession.     Twenty  years  of  worry  and  failure 

[ii] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

had  eaten  across  his  forehead  many  a  deep  furrow, 
every  one  representing  a  show  venture  that  had  been 
taken  out  on  the  road  by  him  loaded  with  rosy  hopes 
and  prospects,  only  to  be  wound  up  by  unfeeling  sheriffs 
loaded  with  fatal  writs  and  attachments.  Theatrical 
shipwrecks  were  his  specialty;  yet,  in  the  days  when 
"  shoestring  "  management  flourished,  Bill  was  a  king 
among  his  brethren.  During  that  palmy  period  of  the 
drama  a  manager  possessed  of  a  surplus  over  the  amount 
of  money  required  to  move  his  attraction  to  the  first 
stand  was  regarded  with  distrust  by  the  fraternity. 
Of  such  suspicion  Bill  was  never  the  object.  On  the 
contrary,  he  sometimes  lacked  the  price  of  the  initial 
transportation  of  his  troupe,  and  that  was  his  condi 
tion  on  this  September  morning,  when  his  four-in-hand 
became  so  strangely  unmanageable. 

In  the  respite  from  his  physical  exertions  before 
the  mirror  Bill's  thoughts  earnestly  directed  themselves 
to  the  problem  of  how  to  launch  his  latest  enterprise, 
"The  Gay  Gothamites,"  scheduled  to  open  in  two 
days  in  Branton,  Connecticut,  where  the  attraction 
was  alliteratively  billed  as  a  "  Merry  Melange  of  Mirth 
and  Melody."  The  distance  from  New  York  to 
Branton  is  not  more  than  twenty-five  miles  and  the 
weather  was  well  suited  to  pedestrianism,  yet  Bill  could 
not  reasonably  ask  the  actors  to  accomplish  the  dis 
tance  on  foot,  not  only  in  view  of  the  fact  that  Branton 
was  the  first  town  in  the  itinerary  but  also  because 

[12] 


'THE   GAY   GOTHAMITES' 

his  company's  walking  powers  might  well  be  reserved 
for  a  similar  emergency  later  in  the  season. 


"GAZING  INQUIRINGLY  AT  HIS  WEATHER-BEATEN  IMAGE" 

"  How  can  I  get  them  there  with  only  ninety  cents 
in  my  jeans  ? "  mused  Bill,  gazing  inquiringly  at  his 

[13] 


BILL    TRUETELL 

weather-beaten  image.  The  weather-beaten  image, 
quite  as  much  perplexed  as  its  original,  offered  no 
solution.  Despairingly,  Bill  again  gripped  the  ends 
of  his  tie  and  gave  them  a  sudden,  powerful  yank. 
To  his  amazement,  the  obstinate  piece  of  neckwear 
became  immediately  obedient  and  slipped  into  its 
proper  position.  Simultaneously  an  inspiration  slipped 
into  Bill's  mind. 

"I  've  got  it!"  he  exclaimed.     "I  '11  touch  Reece." 
The  object  of  Bill's  prospective  "touching"  opera 
tion  was  the  local   manager  who  presided  over  the 
destinies  of  the  Branton  "  Op'ry "  House   and  posted 
the  show  bills  in  that  quaint  town.     He  was  an  old 
friend  of  Bill's;  this  fact,  in  Bill's  sanguine  judgment, 
precluded  any  chance  of  the  failure  of  his  inspiration. 
Acting  on  the  happy  impulse  forthwith,  he  has 
tened  to  the  nearest  telegraph  office  and  sent  the  follow 
ing  message: 

JOHN  REECE, 

MANAGER  OPERA  HOUSE,  BRANTON,  CT. 
Need  fifty  to  make  your  town. 

BILL  TRUETELL. 

Old  friendship  is  one  thing;  an  abrupt  demand  for 
fifty  dollars  quite  another.  The  local  manager  at 
Branton  experienced  a  chilling  sensation  in  the  region 
of  his  spine  when  he  read  the  telegram.  If  Bill  could 
have  seen  his  face  at  that  moment  he  would  have 

[14] 


"THE   GAY   GOTHAMITES' 

searched  in  vain  for  any  evidence  denoting  friendship 
either  of  the  old-time  or  up-to-date  variety. 

"Touching  me  before  he  opens!  Not  for  mine," 
was  Recce's  savage  comment.  "  He  must  think  I  'm 
the  dead  easiest  thing  on  earth.' 

Actuated  by  this  inimical  spirit  he  wired  as  follows : 

BILL  TRUETELL, 

NEW  YORK.  Am  over  seven. 

REECE. 

Bill  grinned  on  receipt  of  this  sarcastic  reply.  "  It 
will  take  another  good  bluff  to  land  him." 

Half  an  hour  later  this  tearful  plea  sped  over  the 
wire  to  Branton : 

Company  absolutely  require  money  for  railroad 
fares.  Open  your  heart  and  give  them  something 

BILL. 


In  reply  came  this  response: 
Give  them  my  regards. 


REECE. 


As  he  read  the  bit  of  grim  humor  Bill  laughed 
triumphantly.  "  I  've  got  him  going.  Now  to  make 
him  take  the  count,"  he  said.  With  a  confident  hand 
he  penned  the  following  knockout  rejoinder : 

All  right,  old  man.     Cancel  engagement. 

TRUETELL. 

[15] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

His  firm  belief  in  the  potency  of  this  ultimatum 
was  begotten  of  cool,  calm  reasoning.  He  argued 
that  inasmuch  as  it  was  only  two  days  before  the  time 
set  for  the  opening  the  manager  at  Branton  had  already 
incurred  advertising  expenses,  that  would  be  a  dead 
loss  to  him  if  the  company  failed  to  appear;  further 
more,  that  the  sale  of  seats  had  started,  and  Reece 
could  not  afford  to  disappoint  his  patrons  beforehand 
by  calling  the  date  off,  however  much  they  might  be 
disappointed  after  witnessing  the  performance.  Thus 
Bill  drew  the  conclusion  that  the  Connecticut  magnate 
must  advance  the  money  to  protect  his  own  interests. 

The  accuracy  of  this  logic  was  proved  by  the  speedy 
arrival  of  the  fifty  dollars,  accompanied,  however,  by 
a  solemn  statement  from  Reece  to  the  effect  that  he 
made  the  loan  under  protest  and  would  reimburse 
himself  out  of  the  first  receipts  the  evening  of  the 
production. 

No  objection  was  entered  by  Bill  to  the  stipulation. 
The  money  acted  like  balm  to  his  tortured  soul.  For 
several  days  he  had  been  confronted  with  the  awful, 
paradoxical  possibility  of  closing  his  show  before  he 
opened  it.  Now  he  was  enabled  to  purchase  the  rail 
road  tickets,  and,  besides,  to  settle  a  long-standing 
obligation  which  had  been  the  subject  of  some  heated 
discussion  with  his  landlady. 

The  world  appeared  to  him  to  be  brighter  than 
ever  before;  when  the  time  came  for  the  departure 

[16] 


"THE   GAY   GOTHAMITES' 

of  "The  Gay  Gothamites"  for  Branton,  the  manager 
of  the  blithesome  organization  turned  his  back  on  all 
his  past  misfortunes  and  entered  upon  his  new  sphere 
of  activity  with  the  courage  of  a  Pizarro  starting  on  his 
first  conquest,  though  his  pocket  contained  only  one 
dollar  and  five  cents  by  actual  count ! 


[17] 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  LITTLE  VAN  BALKEN 

ON  the  night  of  the  first  presentation  of  the 
"Merry  Melange  of  Mirth  and  Melody"  in 
Branton,  Bill  Truetell  and  Reece  stood  at 
the  door  of  the  "  Op'ry  "  House  waiting  for  the  auditors 
to  arrive.  Their  little  telegraphic  passage-at-arms 
was  evidently  forgotten.  Figuratively  speaking,  the 
olive  branch  of  peace  waved  above  their  heads,  while 
between  them  stood  a  very  material  affair  in  the  shape 
of  a  high,  battered,  old  tin  box,  to  be  used  as  a  recep 
tacle  for  the  hundreds  of  tickets  that  were  expected  to 
be  bought  that  evening.  The  local  amusement  pur 
veyor  took  the  tickets.  He  deftly  tore  off  the  coupon 
from  each  bit  of  pasteboard  as  it  was  given  to  him, 
handed  the  coupon  to  its  owner,  and  dropped  the 
remainder  in  the  old  tin  box.  Since  every  stub  Reece 
deposited  represented  an  integral  part  of  the  com 
pany's  share  of  the  receipts,  Bill  maintained  a  close 
guard,  lest  Reece  should  be  unmindful  of  the  olive 
branch  and  neglect  to  drop  the  tickets  where  they 
belonged.  Unfortunately,  Bill's  vigilant  surveillance 
of  his  brother  manager  did  not  require  any  prolonged 

[18] 


THE   LITTLE   VAN   BALKEN 

effort,  as  the  prospect  of  business  that  night  was 
discouraging. 

At  seven-thirty  o'clock,  when  the  outer  door  opened, 
there  was  a  rush  of  exactly  three  adults  and  one  boy 
for  admittance. 

"  I  'm  afraid  the  church  sociable  's  going  to  hurt 
us,  Bill,"  remarked  the  ticket  taker. 

"  Hurt  nothin',"  retorted  the  director  of  the  fortunes 
of  "  The  Gay  Gothamites."  "  If  they  want  us,  they  '11 
come,  sociable  or  no  sociable." 

As  time  wore  on  it  was  apparent,  even  to  Bill's 
sanguine  vision,  that  the  inhabitants  of  Branton  did 
not  want  "The  Gay  Gothamites"  very  ardently,  or, 
if  they  did,  they  were  succeeding  admirably  in  sup 
pressing  their  desire.  Only  a  few  had  trickled  through 
the  door  by  ten  minutes  of  eight,  and  the  performance 
was  announced  to  commence  at  eight. 

"They  come  pretty  late  in  this  town,  don't  they?" 
asked  the  travelling  manager,  in  a  vain  hunt  for  con 
solation. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  other.  "They  dine  late,  and 
linger  over  their  wine." 

Just  then  Bill  felt  the  pressure  of  a  hand  on  his 
arm,  and  turning,  saw  at  the  door  a  shabby-looking 
trio,  consisting  of  a  male  and  two  females. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  the  man,  in  sepulchral  tones, 
"but  have  I  the  honor  of  addressing  the  manager  of 
'The  Gay  Gothamites  '  ?  " 

[19] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

"If  it  is  an  honor,  you  have  it,"  grunted  Bill. 

"Do  you  recognize  the  profession?"  was  the  next 
question;  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  the  visitor 
continued,  "Allow  me  to  introduce  myself  and  family." 
He  handed  Truetell  a  soiled  card,  on  which  was  printed : 


THE  THREE  VAN  BALKENS 

WHIRLWIND     DANCERS 


"My  wife  and  daughter,  sir,"  went  on  the  mas 
culine  Van  Balken,  waving  toward  his  companions, 
whose  demeanor  was  more  suggestive  of  a  dead  calm 
than  a  whirlwind.  "You  have  probably  seen  our 
turn?" 

Bill  replied  in  the  negative,  and  gruffly  asked  how 
he  could  serve  them. 

"  In  two  ways,  sir.  One  is  to  extend  us  the  courtesy 
of  seats  for  your  performance  to-night,  and  the  other  — 
the  other  —  "  repeated  the  male  whirlwind  dancer, 
clutching  the  manager  by  the  sleeve  and  whispering 
mysteriously  in  his  ear,  "  is  to  help  us  get  out  of  this 
town.  We  came  with  the  last  troupe  that  played  here, 
two  weeks  ago,  and  business  was  so  bad  we  stranded. 
We  've  been  up  against  it  good  and  hard.  The  rest  of 

[20] 


THE  LITTLE  VAN   BALKEN 

the  company  managed  somehow  to  get  to  New  York, 
but  we  're  here  yet,  and  Heaven  only  knows  when  we  '11 
leave  if  you  don't  help  us.  You  are  a  prosperous  man 
ager,  Mr.  Truetell,  and  —  " 

"Say,  on  the  level,"  broke  in  Bill,  "you  're  guying 
me!" 

The  man  with  the  sepulchral  voice  protested  that 
his  belief  in  the  manager's  capacity  to  aid  them  was 
genuine,  but  his  appeal  did  not  have  the  desired  effect. 

"  You  have  no  corner  on  troubles,"  said  Bill.  *'  Why, 
just  before  you  came  up  to  the  door,  I  was  figuring  on 
how  to  get  my  own  troupe  away.  If  the  audience 
don't  come  a  little  swifter,  I  can  see  my  company 
settling  down  as  permanent  residents  of  this  burg." 

He  was  about  to  tell  the  Van  Balkens  not  to  expect 
any  help  from  him,  when  his  glance  rested  on  the 
younger  of  the  feminine  whirlwind  dancers.  She  was 
a  picture  of  abject  distress.  Misery  had  a  dwelling  place 
on  every  feature  of  her  pale  face.  Her  eyes  looked 
despondently  at  Bill.  Her  lips  seemed  set  in  prayer 
ful  supplication,  and  even  her  tiny  snub  nose  appeared 
to  join  in  the  facial  appeal,  and  found  its  way  to 
Bill's  sympathies. 

Little  wonder  his  manner  changed!  A  young 
woman  in  need  of  help  always  touched  a  responsive 
chord  in  his  heart.  He  had  been  known  to  sit  for  an 
hour  by  the  side  of  a  weeping  chorus  girl  and  soothe  her, 
with  all  the  solicitude  of  a  father,  and  perhaps  a  little 

[21] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

more.  If  a  warm  clasp  around  the  waist,  or  a  gentle 
brushing  of  the  hair  from  the  temples,  or  a  paternal 
salute  on  the  lips  was  necessary  for  a  sorrowing  maid's 
comfort,  Bill  never  withheld  his  assistance.  Once  his 
devotion  to  the  cause  of  suffering  femininity  impelled 
him  to  hold  an  unhappy  soubrette  on  his  knee,  and 
rest  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  beg  her  not  to  worry 
over  her  "brute  of  a  husband,"  who  had  contracted 
a  habit  of  beating  her  whenever  he  drank  to  excess. 
Tall  females,  however,  and  females  advanced  in  years, 
did  not  come  within  the  purview  of  his  unselfish  fond 
ness. 

"A  big  woman  does  not  need  protection,"  was  Bill's 
theory;  "and  old  ones  are  altogether  too  grateful  to 
suit  my  fancy." 

Consistently  with  this  line  of  reasoning,  Bill's  gaze 
swept  rapidly  by  the  altitudinous  form  of  the  elder  Van 
Balken  female  and  lingered  on  her  little  snub-nosed 
daughter. 

"  Come  here,  kid,"  he  said. 

The  youthful  whirlwind  dancer  approached  Bill  as 
gently  as  a  zephyr. 

When  she  stood  before  him,  the  manager  of  "  The 
Gay  Gothamites  "  smiled  upon  the  shrinking  figure  so 
reassuringly  that  the  radiance  from  his  kindly  coun 
tenance  dried  her  eyes  and  made  them  sparkle  with 
delight. 

"Don't  worry,  my  child,"  was  the  soothing  advice 

[22] 


THE   LITTLE  VAN    BALKEN 

of  this  theatrical  Samaritan.  To  assure  her  still  fur 
ther  of  his  interest  in  her  welfare,  he  held  one  of  her 
hands,  and  rested  his  disengaged  palm  on  her  rounded 
shoulder. 

"Oh,  sir,  you  are  so  good!"  lisped  the  girl. 

The  lisp  found  its  way  to  Bill's  heart  over  the  same 
path  the  snub  nose  had  recently  travelled.  They 
formed  a  combination  too  strong  to  be  resisted. 

"I  '11  place  you  with  this  troupe,"  announced  the 
manager,  "but  I  don't  know  what  I  can  do  with  ma 
and  pop/'  he  added,  jerking  his  head  over  his  shoulder 
toward  the  elder  exponents  of  the  whirlwind,  who, 
having  retired  a  few  paces,  pretended  to  be  in  complete 
ignorance  of  the  caresses  which  Bill  was  generously 
bestowing  on  their  progeny. 

"  Oh,  sir,  do  take  them  along,"  pleaded  the  little 
Van  Balken.  "We  can  do  our  specialty.  Ma  can 
help  with  the  wardrobe,  and  pa  can  double  in  brass." 

"  Does  your  pop  take  this  for  a  minstrel  troupe  ?  " 
demanded  Bill,  glaring  at  the  father,  whose  title  to  the 
right  to  double  in  brass  had  been  acquired  in  a  black 
face  organization,  as  a  member  of  which  he  had  played 
a  cornet  out  on  parade  during  the  day  and  spun  a  tam 
bourine  in  the  capacity  of  end-man  at  night. 

"Don't  be  cross  with  him,"  begged  the  daughter, 
with  another  lisp  and  another  tilt  of  her  snub  nose. 

Bill  surrendered. 

"My  dear,"  said  he,  giving  her  hand  a  couple  of 

[23] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

squeezes  and  her  shoulder  a  couple  of  pats,  "the  old 
gent  can  come  along,  and  ma,  too." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  sir.  When  do  we  leave  town  ?  " 
queried  the  delighted  little  dancer. 

Her  inquiry  drove  home  to  Bill's  mind  the  dire 
possibility  that  the  size  of  his  share  of  the  night's 
receipts  might  not  be  large  enough  for  railroad  fares 
to  the  next  stand. 

"My  child,"  he  rejoined,  with  a  strong  effort  to 
appear  cheerful,  "the  question  now  is  not  'when  will 
we  leave  town  ? '  but  '  do  we  leave  town  ? ' ' 

The  Van  Balken  girl  laughed  at  what  she  considered 
a  good  joke.  "  I  guess  you  '11  make  the  jump  all  right." 
Saying  this,  she  glanced  at  the  evidences  of  prosperity 
on  Bill's  person,  among  which  were  a  somewhat  shiny 
silk  hat,  perched  rakishly  on  his  large  head,  and  an 
even  more  shiny  imitation  diamond  glistening  from 
the  centre  of  his  striped  shirt  front. 

"I  guess  so,  too,"  he  replied.  "Now,  you  and 
your  folks  go  in  and  see  the  show,  and  to-morrow  I  '11 
decide  where  to  put  you  with  the  company." 

"Take  any  seats  you  find  vacant,"  he  called  out, 
as  the  trio  moved  toward  the  door  in  the  lobby  that 
opened  into  the  auditorium.  They  experienced  no 
trouble  whatever  in  discovering  unoccupied  chairs. 
More  difficulty  would  have  attended  a  search  for  spec 
tators. 

"  You  could  fire  a  Gatling  gun  in  here  without  hit- 

[24] 


THE  LITTLE   VAN   BALKEN 

ting  anybody,"  a  lengthy  usher  remarked  to  an  abbre 
viated  boy  who  dispensed  programmes  and  chewed 
gum  with  equal  solemnity. 

The  little  Van  Balken  heard  the  comment  and 
glanced  reproachfully  at  the  speaker. 

"Who  are  you  staring  at?"  he  demanded. 

"  If  the  gun  shot  through  your  head  it  would  n't 
hit  any  brains,"  lisped  the  girl  defiantly. 

The  programme  boy's  solemnity  vanished  at  this 
rejoinder. 

"Gee,  what  a  soaker!"  he  cried  tauntingly. 

The  girl  did  not  pause  to  enjoy  the  usher's  discom 
fiture.  She  quickly  led  her  parents  to  three  seats  well 
down  to  the  front,  which  they  reached  just  as  the 
curtain  rang  up  on  the  first  scene  of  "The  Gay 
Gothamites." 


[25] 


CHAPTER  III 

MISS  SNAPPER'S  FOOT 

THE  performance  started  in  with  an  abundance  of 
quick  action,  pretty  girls  in  enticing  costumes, 
and  knockabout  comedians.  It  was  by  no 
means  an  immoral  performance,  nor  did  it  possess  any 
elements  that  could  be  safely  transplanted  to  a  Sun 
day-school  entertainment. 

The  particular  feature  of  the  first  scene  was  an 
athletic  dance  by  the  leading  soubrette  of  the  company, 
Miss  Kitty  Snapper,  whose  agility  and  plump  figure 
were  both  displayed  to  good  advantage. 

Her  turn  was  in  progress  when  Bill  and  the  local 
manager  left  their  stations  at  the  door  and  entered  the 
auditorium  to  see  how  the  show  was  going  on. 

"  I  want  you  to  keep  your  eye  on  that  girl's  career,'* 
said  Bill,  enthusiastically,  nodding  toward  the  acrobatic 
Miss  Snapper.  "  She  's  a  discovery  of  mine.  I  dug 
her  up  in  Lebanon,  Pennsylvania.  Is  n't  she  a 
dream?" 

He  would  have  rhapsodized  at  greater  length  if  the 
"  dream  "  at  that  moment  had  not  experienced  a  sudden 
and  painful  awakening.  In  attempting  a  terpsichorean 

[26] 


MISS   SNAPPER'S   FOOT 

evolution,  which  might  be  technically  described  as  a 
cross  between  a  flipflop  and  a  cartwheel,  Miss  Snapper 
lost  her  balance  and  came  down  in  a  heap,  supple 
menting  her  fall  by  a  series  of  piercing  shrieks,  which 
were  exceedingly  trying  to  the  nerves  of  the  spectators 
in  general  and  of  Bill  in  particular. 

"Great  Scott!"  he  ejaculated.  "She's  killed  her 
self!" 

"Killed  your  grandmother,"  growled  the  local 
manager.  "  She  's  twisted  one  of  her  pegs,  that 's 
all." 

As  the  unfortunate  dancer  showed  no  disposition 
to  stop  her  screams,  Bill  rushed  upon  the  stage  and 
hastily  ordered  the  curtain  to  be  rung  down.  Step 
ping  in  front  of  it,  he  announced,  in  a  quavering  voice, 
that  if  there  was  a  doctor  present  he  would  greatly 
oblige  him  by  coming  to  the  injured  Miss  Snapper's 
assistance. 

In  response  to  this  request,  a  short,  grim-visaged, 
steel-spectacled  old  man  left  his  seat  in  the  parquet  and 
hastened,  with  jerky  little  steps,  to  the  scene  of  the 
accident.  Bill  greeted  him  effusively. 

"You  're  just  in  time,  doc,"  he  said,  seizing  the  old 
man's  hand.  "I  know  you  can  help  the  poor  girl. 
Looks  to  me  as  if  her  ankle 's  broken,  or  badly  sprained, 
or  something.  Guess  you  '11  want  her  shoe  taken  off, 
won't  you,  doc  ?  I  '11  help,  if  necessary,"  volunteered 
Bill. 

[27] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

"  Before  —  we  —  remove  —  the  —  shoe,"  returned 
the  doctor  slowly  and  icily,  "I  'd  —  like  —  something." 

"  What 's  that  ?  A  glass  of  water  or  a  bandage  ? " 
suggested  the  manager. 

"No,  sir!    My  fee,  sir!"  replied  the  old  man. 

"What!"  gasped  the  amazed  showman.  "Want 
your  fee  before  you  've  attended  to  the  case  ?  " 

'You  took  my  money  before  you  let  me  into  the 
theatre,"  was  the  calm  reply.  "Besides,  I've  made 
up  my  mind  not  to  trust  you  troupers  any  more. 
Whenever  I  do,  I  allus  get  the  worst  of  it,  and  you 
don't  look  any  honester  than  the  rest." 

"  How  much  is  your  charge  ?  "  demanded  Bill. 

"  A  dollar  and  a  quarter  if  it 's  a  sprain,  and  two 
dollars  if  it 's  a  fracture.  Better  let  me  have  two  dol 
lars,  and  if  there  are  no  bones  broken  I  '11  give  you 
seventy-five  cents  back." 

Bill  looked  at  him  witheringly.  "  I  've  met  some 
cold-blooded  ones  in  my  travels,"  said  he,  shaking 
his  head,  "but  you  've  left  'em  all  at  the  post." 

"All  right,  sir,"  was  the  frigid  rejoinder.  "I 
leave  you  right  here  and  now.  I  cal'late  you  'd 
better  send  to  the  next  town  for  a  doctor."  The 
grim-visaged  man  of  medicine  thereupon  started  to 
walk  away. 

"Hold  on,"  cried  Bill,  realizing  the  seriousness 
of  the  old  man's  intimation  that  he  was  the  only  phy 
sician  in  Branton;  "I'll  see  what  can  be  done." 

[28] 


MISS   SNAPPER'S   FOOT 

The  old  man  came  back,  and  cynically  watched  the 
manager,  as  he  made  a  quick  search  through  his 
pockets.  The  effort  "resulted  in  revealing  just  ninety 
cents.  This  Bill  proffered  as  advance  payment  on  the 
fee. 

"Two  dollars  or  nothing,"  declared  the  obdurate 
little  man. 

"Great  Heavens,  doc!"  the  ruler  of  "The  Gay 
Gothamites"  pleaded,  "You  shouldn't  be  so  cruel. 
Does  n't  that  have  any  effect  on  you  ?  "  He  motioned 
toward  the  afflicted  dancer. 

She  was  sitting  on  the  stage,  the  centre  of  a  sym 
pathetic  circle  of  her  fellow-players.  Her  training 
as  an  acrobat  enabled  her  to  hold  her  disabled  foot  on 
her  lap  while  she  kicked  up  and  down  with  the  other, 
beating  time  to  a  succession  of  shrieks  —  which  seemed 
to  grow  louder  every  second. 

The  doctor  did  not  trouble  to  look  in  the  direc 
tion  of  Miss  Snapper. 

"She  could  stop  yelling  if  she  wanted  to."  His 
pitiless  remark  reached  the  ears  of  the  victim  of  the 
accident. 

"  You  're  an  old  four-eyed  liar ! "  she  shouted. 

"Be  calm,  my  dear,  be  calm,"  said  Bill  sooth 
ingly;  "and  I'll  send  for  Reece  to  straighten  this 
affair  out." 

The  local  manager  came  in  obedience  to  the  sum 
mons. 

[31] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

"Old  man,"  confided  Bill,  after  explaining  the 
situation,  "  I  need  just  a  dollar  and  ten  cents.  Let  me 
have  it  like  a  good  fellow." 

"  But,  Bill, "  replied  Reece,  hesitatingly,  "  you  're 
into  me  for  fifty  dollars  already." 

"  It 's  thoughtful  of  you  to  remind  me  of  it  just 
now, "  said  Truetell,  "  and  you  're  protected  all  right, 
as  far  as-  that 's  concerned,  for  you  're  going  to  take 
it  out  of  to-night's  receipts." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  local  manager;  "if  there's 
money  enough  in  the  house  to  cover  the  fifty." 

"You  mean  to  insinuate  there  may  be  less  than 
fifty  dollars  here  to-night  ?  "  quaked  Bill. 

"Dunno,"  rejoined  Reece.  "Suppose  we  find  out 
before  you  go  adding  to  your  debt." 

"  You  don't  want  me  to  count  up  the  house  before 
the  doctor  attends  to  that  poor  girl,  do  you  ?  "  pro 
tested  the  indignant  travelling  manager. 

"It  won't  take  long  to  count  up,"  sarcastically 
retorted  the  local  theatrical  man.  "  I  '11  send  for  the 
box,  and  we  can  do  it  right  here,  so  as  to  save  time." 

Bill  was  compelled  to  assent.  When  the  lengthy 
usher  arrived  with  the  battered  receptacle  for  tickets, 
the  local  manager  produced  a  key  from  his  pocket, 
unlocked  an  old-fashioned  padlock,  and  dumped  the 
contents  of  the  box  on  a  rough  table  that  had  been 
dragged  on  the  stage  from  the  wings.  The  two  man 
agers  seated  themselves  on  opposite  sides.  Around 

[32] 


MISS   SNAPPER'S   FOOT 

them  crowded  the  members  of  "The  Gay  Gothamites." 
The  little  doctor,  attracted  either  by  the  curious 
scene  itself,  or  by  his  anxiety  to  know  whether  his 
fee  would  be  forthcoming,  approached  as  near  the 
table  as  possible,  and  stood  on  tiptoe  to  look  over  the 
shoulders  of  the  players  intervening.  The  only  indi 
vidual  in  the  vicinity  who  did  not  watch  the  count 
was  the  person  most  interested,  Miss  Snapper. 

That  unfortunate  young  lady  sat  on  the  stage,  a 
little  distance  away,  nursing  her  injured  foot  and  giv 
ing  an  occasional  scream  to  remind  her  associates 
that,  though  she  could  not  view  the  operation  that 
meant  so  much  to  her,  she  must  not  be  forgotten. 

As  a  preliminary  to  the  count,  Bill  gathered  up 
the  pieces  of  pasteboard  into  small  packs,  handling 
them  as  if  he  was  a  card-player  about  to  deal  a  hand 
of  whist.  Each  little  pack  he  held  to  his  right  ear, 
separating  the  edges  slightly  by  means  of  his  thumbs 
and  forefingers.  Then,  with  a  rapid  movement,  he 
snapped  the  tickets,  his  acute  sense  of  hearing  and 
long  practice  enabling  him  to  follow  the  count  by  the 
clicking  sounds  and  to  determine  just  how  many  were 
in  each  pack.  The  local  manager  repeated  this  in 
teresting  manipulation  without  detecting  any  error. 
In  less  than  ten  minutes  all  the  tickets  were  counted. 
The  footings  represented  the  value  of  the  audience  at 
exactly  fifty  dollars  and  fifty  cents.  Of  this  the  local 
manager  was  entitled  to  fifty  dollars  as  reimburse- 

[33] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

ment  for  the  money  advanced,  and  fifteen  cents,  or 
thirty  per  cent  of  the  remainder.  Bill,  whose  con 
tract  gave  him  seventy  per  cent  of  the  gross  receipts 
after  the  fifty  dollars  was  deducted,  had  thirty-five 
cents  coming  to  him.  This,  added  to  the  ninety  cents 
he  had  fished  out  of  his  pockets,  left  him  still  seventy- 
five  cents  short  of  the  fee  demanded  by  the  doctor. 

When  Bill  finished  his  calculation,  and  realized 
its  import,  he  gave  vent  to  a  sound  that  could  be  in 
terpreted  either  as  a  gasp  or  an  oath.  Instinctively, 
he  looked  in  the  direction  of  Miss  Snapper.  His 
glance  must  have  conveyed  a  telepathic  message 
that  the  verdict  had  gone  against  her,  for  she  immedi 
ately  emitted  a  heart-rending  shriek  and  rolled  about  on 
the  stage,  contortionist  fashion,  still  holding  her  ankle. 

Reece  handed  Truetell  his  thirty-five  cents.  "  Sorry, 
old  man,"  said  he,  and  started  to  leave  the  stage, 
followed  by  the  only  physician  in  Branton. 

The  members  of  "The  'Gay  Gothamites"  sadly 
sidled  away  from  the  table,  leaving  Bill  alone  with  the 
bits  of  pasteboard  and  his  grief.  Wofully  he  gazed 
at  the  tickets,  and  still  more  wofully  at  the  rolling 
figure  of  the  soubrette. 

His  distress  did  not  continue  long.  It  was  inter 
rupted  by  the  rapid  entrance  on  the  stage  of  the  pro 
gramme  boy,  who  had  been  stationed  in  charge  of  the 
admission  door  to  the  theatre  while  the  count  was  in 
progress.  He  held  four  tickets  in  his  hand. 

[34] 


MISS   SNAPPER'S   FOOT 

"Mr.  Kennedy  and  his  family  just  came  in,"  he 
cried,  "and  here's  their  tickets." 

Bill 's  eyes  gleamed  as  the  boy  dropped  them  on 
the  table.  At  the  rate  of  fifty  cents  apiece,  they  rep 
resented  two  dollars. 

"Come  back  here!"  he  yelled  after  the  disappear 
ing  doctor  and  Reece.  They  returned  to  the  table. 
The  actors  and  actresses  once  more  crowded  about, 
while  Miss  Snapper  stopped  her  rolling  and  shrieking 
simultaneously. 

"Cash  these  tickets,  Reece!"  commanded  Bill, 
handing  the  four  precious  parallelograms  to  the  local 
manager. 

Reece  promptly  gave  him  a  dollar  and  forty  cents 
for  his  share. 

"Now,  you!"  continued  the  travelling  manager, 
turning  to  the  doctor  and  offering  him  two  dollars, 
"you  start  to  work  on  that  girl,  and  commence  pretty 
quick,  or  there  '11  be  somebody  else  injured  around 
here,  and  it  won't  be  in  the  foot  either!" 

His  attitude  appeared  so  threatening  as  he  rose 
from  his  seat  that  the  little  doctor  grabbed  the  money 
without  stopping  to  count  it,  and  hastened  to  Miss 
Snapper's  assistance.  An  examination  of  the  injured 
member  disclosed  the  fact  that  no  bones  were  broken. 
This  revelation  entitled  Bill  to  seventy-five  cents  re 
bate,  which  he  forthwith  claimed  and  received.  A 
further  diagnosis  showed  a  serious  sprain,  and  the 

[35] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

doctor  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  Miss  Snapper  could 
appear  no  more  that  night,  and  perhaps  not  for  several 
nights  afterward. 

The  little  band  of  spectators  in  the  auditorium, 
their  patience  completely  exhausted  by  the  long  wait 
and  an  alleged  musical  selection  by  the  squeaky  or 
chestra,  clapped  their  hands  vigorously  as  the  heavy 
curtain  rumbled  again  to  the  top  of  the  proscenium 
arch.  The  show  was  resumed,  minus  Miss  Snapper, 
and  performed  to  the  finale  without  any  further  need 
of  medical  services. 


[86] 


CHAPTER  IV 

SOME  SUCCESSFUL  EXPEDIENTS 

WHEN  "The  Gay  Gothamites "  had  sung 
their  last  song  and  kicked  their  last  kick 
for  that  evening,  Bill  and  Reece  stood  in 
the  lobby  while  the  audience  filed  past.  The  local 
manager,  feeling  the  importance  of  his  position,  puffed 
determinedly  at  a  big  cigar  and  nodded  condescendingly 
to  his  fellow-townspeople.  Truetell  had  no  feeling, 
save  one  of  extreme  depression.  Incidentally,  he  was 
trying  to  solve  the  problem  of  how  to  pay  his  troupe's 
hotel  bills  and  railroad  fares  to  the  next  town  with  a 
capital  of  a  dollar  and  a  half.  Overcome  by  the  weight 
of  this  serious  cogitation,  his  eyes  looked  downward. 
As  he  lifted  them  he  saw  the  Van  Balken  trio  stand 
ing  in  front  of  him. 

"  How  is  she  ?  "  lisped  the  girl. 

"Who?"  asked  the  manager. 

"  The  dancer  who  hurt  herself, "  explained  the  sym 
pathetic  Van  Balken. 

"I  sent  her  to  the  hotel  in  the  transfer  wagon  an 
hour  ago, "  said  Bill.  "  The  doctor  says  it  will  be  sev 
eral  days,  perhaps  longer,  before  she  can  play  again." 

[37] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

"  Who  's  her  understudy  ? "  questioned  the  whirl 
wind  dancer. 

"  Nobody.  Have  n't  had  time  to  drill  one.  This 
is  our  first  night  out." 

"Let  me  play  the  part,"  she  entreated.  "I'll 
stay  awake  to-night  to  get  up  in  the  lines,  and  I  '11 
be  letter  perfect  by  to-morrow  morning.  Don't  say 
no/' 

"  You  're  all  right,  kid, "  was  Bill's  grateful  re 
sponse,  "and  I  think  I'll  take  a  chance  with  you. 
Go  back  on  the  stage  now,  and  tell  Lasker,  the  stage 
manager,  to  give  you  the  part.  Meet  the  company, 
with  your  ma  and  pop,  at  the  ten  o'clock  train  for 
Mighton  to-morrow  morning;  and  if  I  can  induce  the 
railroad  to  let  us  travel  without  paying,  we  '11  all  get 
out  of  this  God-forsaken  town." 

Again  the  little  Van  Balken  laughed  at  the  manager's 
poverty-pleading  allusion.  Her  experience  in  the  busi 
ness  had  not  yet  taught  her  that  silk  hats,  and 
striped  shirt  fronts  with  glistening  stones  in  the  cen 
tre,  are  not  infallible  indications  of  prosperity.  She 
was  still  smiling  as  she  departed,  with  her  parents,  in 
search  of  Lasker. 

Bill  turned  to  the  local  manager.  "  Old  man, " 
said  he,  "you  acted  pretty  confounded  mean  to-night 
about  the  doctor's  fee,  but  I  always  was  a  forgiving 
chap,  and,  to  prove  to  you  there  is  no  hard  feeling 
on  my  part,  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  '11  do.  If  they  've 

[38] 


SUCCESSFUL   EXPEDIENTS 

got  anything  stronger  than  cider  in  this  town,  I  '11 
buy  you  a  drink." 

"  Do  you  mean  it  ?  "  asked  Reece,  mindful  of  the 
other's  financial  condition. 

''I  'm  a  game  sport,  I  am,"  was  Bill 's  courageous 
retort.  "You  lead  the  way." 

Reece  did  not  give  him  time  to  reconsider  his  rash 
invitation.  He  straightway  escorted  Truetell  to  a 
saloon  around  the  corner,  where  they  took  positions 
at  the  end  of  a  long  bar,  behind  which  a  barrel-shaped 
bartender  was  dispensing  drinks  to  a  row  of  thirsty 
Brantonians.  The  latter  were  lined  up  against  the 
bar  like  permanent  fixtures.  Every  man  had  rested  one 
of  his  elbows  on  the  top  of  the  counter  in  total  disre 
gard  of  the  pools  of  beer  which  covered  the  surface. 

"  What  '11  you  have,  gentlemen  ? "  inquired  the 
bartender,  rolling  his  fat  body  toward  the  managers. 

"  Mine  's  whiskey,"  said  Reece. 

Bill's  bibulous  fancy  had  a  more  elevated  tendency. 
He  called  for  a  high-ball. 

"A  —  what ? "  questioned  the  man  behind  the  bar, 
squinting  his  eyebrows. 

"Better  take  it  straight,"  whispered  Reece. 

"All  right.     Gimme  the  same  as  my  friend." 

The  bartender  shoved  a  decanter  and  glasses  in 
front  of  them. 

After  they  had  pledged  each  other's  health,  Bill 
became  confidential. 

[39] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

"  Now  look  here,  Reece,"  said  he,  "  I  'm  going  to 
ask  you  to  do  me  a  favor.  This  is  n't  a  touch,  so  you 
need  n't  look  alarmed.  I  want  you  to  take  me  to  the 
agent  of  the  railroad,  so  I  can  make  a  proposition  to 
him  for  the  transportation  of  the  troupe  to  our  next 
stand." 

"I  won't  have  to  take  you  to  the  depot,"  replied 
the  other,  "for  he  's  right  in  this  saloon.  There  he  is," 
continued  Reece,  pointing  to  a  lanky  man  in  a  blue 
uniform,  who,  standing  at  the  other  end  of  the  bar, 
was  just  raising  a  full-rigged  schooner  of  beer  to  his 
lips.  Bill  sized  him  up,  critically,  noting  that  he 
wore  the  important  expression  generally  a  character 
istic  of  underling  railroad  officials,  and  a  cap  on 
which  the  title,  "Station  Agent,"  was  blazoned  in 
gilt  letters. 

"Good!"  ejaculated  Bill,  finishing  his  critical 
observation.  "He  looks  like  the  right  sort.  Intro 
duce  me." 

Reece  called  out,  "  Hi,  there,  Wheeler.  Come  over 
here." 

The  uniformed  individual  immediately  obeyed  the 
summons,  without  relinquishing  his  grip  on  the  enor 
mous  beer  glass.  Holding  it  in  his  left  hand,  he  ex 
tended  his  right  to  Truetell,  when  Reece  had  finished 
the  ceremony  of  introduction. 

"Delighted  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Wheeler,"  said  Bill 
warmly,  "I  almost  felt  as  if  I  knew  you,  because 

[40] 


SUCCESSFUL  EXPEDIENTS 

I  've  heard  the  general  passenger  agent  of  your  road 
speak  of  you  so  often." 

"  You  don't  mean  it !  Has  Mr.  Arthur  really  done 
that  ?  "  exclaimed  the  delighted  Wheeler. 

"Many  times,"  replied  Bill,  who  never  in  his  life 
had  met  the  general  passenger  agent.  "  I  've  heard 
him  say  often  it  was  only  a  question  of  time  before 
he  'd  have  to  give  you  a  city  of  fifty  thousand.  He  —  " 

"  I  say,"  broke  in  Wheeler.  "  Let 's  drink  up,  and 
have  another  with  me." 

As  he  spoke,  he  lifted  his  glass  of  beer  and  blew  off 
the  foam.  His  delight  at  meeting  an  acquaintance  of 
Mr.  Arthur's  must  have  caused  him  to  add  more 
strength  to  the  blowing  operation  than  was  absolutely 
necessary,  for  the  foam  flew  in  all  directions,  a  not 
inconsiderable  quantity  choosing  for  its  target  the 
bleary  eye  of  the  barrel-shaped  bartender.  That 
surprised  personage  received  the  whitish  charge  with 
an  equanimity  and  fortitude  worthy  a  nobler  pro 
fession.  Without  uttering  a  word  of  protest,  he  lifted 
the  corner  of  his  apron,  rubbed  his  optic  twice,  and 
said:  "What '11  you  take,  gentlemen?" 

Fresh  drinks  having  been  served,  the  station  agent 
resumed :  "  I  'm  mighty  glad  to  know  you,  Mr.  Truetell. 
If  ever  I  can  do  anything  for  you,  you  '11  call  on  me, 
won't  you  ?  " 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Bill,  coldly,  "I  make  it  a 
rule  never  to  accept  any  favors  of  railroads." 

[41] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

He  accompanied  this  statement  with  such  an  air 
of  injured  innocence  that  Reece  gazed  at  him,  stupefied 
with  astonishment,  while  Wheeler  humbly  pleaded 
forgiveness. 

"  I  did  n't  mean  anything  by  it,  Mr.  Truetell. 
You  won't  mention  it  to  Mr.  Arthur,  TV  ill  you  ?  " 

"Why,  certainly  not,  old  man,"  returned  Bill, 
relenting,  with  a  sudden  warmth  that  completely 
reassured  the  railroad  man.  "And,  just  to  show 
you,"  he  continued,  "  I  'm  not  offended,  I  '11  ask  a 
favor  of  you  to-night." 

"  Will  you  ?  "  said  the  grateful  railroad  official. 

"It  goes  against  my  grain,"  the  manager  stated, 
"  but  I  '11  do  it  in  this  case.  What  you  can  do,"  he 
went  on,  hurriedly,  "  is  to  arrange  for  the  transporta 
tion  of  my  company  to  Mighton.  I  expected  a  draft 
to-day  for  the  tickets,  but  to-night  I  received  a  wire 
stating  the  money  will  not  reach  me  before  to-morrow 
evening.  Now,  we  must  leave  here  at  ten  in  the 
morning  to  reach  Mighton  in  time  for  rehearsals." 

The  station  agent  started  to  say  something,  which 
the  voluble  director  of  "The  Gay  Gothamites"  cut 
short  with:  "I  know  what  you're  going  to  say,  old 
man.  You  're  going  to  ask  me  how  this  thing  can  be 
done.  I  '11  tell  you.  You  and  I  and  Reece  will  take 
a  walk  down  to  the  depot  now.  When  we  reach  it, 
you  '11  fix  up  the  tickets  and  give  them  to  me.  Then 
you  '11  wire  the  agent  at  Mighton,  telling  him  the 

[42] 


SUCCESSFUL  EXPEDIENTS 

company  will  play  in  his  town  to-morrow  night,  and 
instruct  him  to  call  at  the  box  office  and  collect  the 
money  for  the  fares.  Before  we  start  for  the  depot, 
though,"  Bill  rattled  on,  "take  a  drink  with  me.  Bar 
tender,  two  whiskeys  and  a  large  glass  of  beer.  Strange, 
so  many  of  you  railroad  men  prefer  beer.  That 's 
what  Arthur  always  drinks.  I  've  never  seen  him 
touch  anything  stronger." 

Here  Wheeler  ventured  a  remark.  "  You  've  really 
been  out  and  round  with  Mr.  Arthur?"  said  he, 
glancing  at  the  loquacious  showman. 

"Many  a  time,"  declared  Bill.  "He's  one  of 
the  boys,  all  right,  after  office  hours.  Next  time  you  're 
in  New  York  I  '11  arrange  for  you  to  meet  him,  and 
the  three  of  us  will  make  a  night  of  it  together." 

The  lanky  station  agent  was  only  able  to  gasp  his 
gratitude.  Never,  in  his  wildest  imaginings,  had  he 
aspired  to  the  luxury  of  a  five  minutes'  chat  with  the 
general  passenger  agent.  Now  he  was  actually  invited 
to  revel  in  a  night  out  with  him!  The  anticipation  of 
such  a  transcendent  honor  literally  took  his  reasoning 
powers  away.  Placing  both  hands  on  the  bar,  he 
gazed  blankly  at  his  own  image  in  the  mirror  op 
posite. 

"  You  're  giving  it  to  him  a  little  too  strong," 
whispered  the  local  theatrical  manager  to  Bill. 

"Trust  me  for  that,"  rejoined  Truetell. 

Wheeler,    having    partially    recovered    his    mental 

[43] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

composure,  stammered  out:  "Now,  about  this  — 
transportation  to  Mighton  —  " 

"All  right,"  interrupted  Bill,  "we'll  walk  to  the 
depot  now." 

Thereupon,  he  took  his  companions  by  the  arm, 
and  led  them  to  the  sidewalk. 

"Another  peculiarity  about  Arthur,"  said  the 
smooth  travelling  manager,  as  the  trio  headed  for  the 
station,  "is  this.  Every  now  and  then  he  takes  a 
fancy  to  a  chap  in  a  small  position  and  boosts  him 
right  up  close  to  the  top.  Look  at  Rush,  the  assistant 
general  passenger  agent.  Three  years  ago  be  ran  the 
little  depot  at  Wansea.  He  'd  have  been  there  yet  if 
I  had  n't  staked  him  to  a  night  with  Arthur  in  New 
York.  When  I  see  Arthur  again,"  confided  Bill, 
giving  Wheeler's  arm  a  friendly  squeeze,  "  I  '11  bring 
up  how  decent  you  were  to  me  in  this  little  matter." 

With  this  prevaricating  peroration,  Bill  finished 
his  plea  for  his  company's  railroad  fares.  "  I  can  't 
jolly  him  any  more,"  he  soliloquized.  "It's  up  to 
him." 

The  mind  of  the  Branton  station  agent  was  in  a 
quandary.  He  had  not  promised,  as  nearly  as  he  could 
recollect,  to  be  "  decent"  to  Truetell  to  the  extent  the 
latter  desired.  His  assurance  in  the  early  part  of  the 
interview  of  his  readiness  to  do  the  manager  a  favor 
was  not  intended  to  go  beyond  the  courtesy  of  a  single 
ticket  for  Bill  personally.  To  be  called  upon  to  fur- 

[44] 


SUCCESSFUL   EXPEDIENTS 

nish  transportation  for  a  company  of  twenty-five, 
was  a  wholesale  proposition  that  staggered  him.  He 
tried  to  weigh  the  conditions  carefully.  On  one  side 
of  the  scales  was  the  risk  he  would  run  in  issuing  tickets 
and  depending  on  the  agent  in  the  next  town  to  collect 
their  price.  On  the  other  side  was  Bill's  friendship 
for  Arthur.  To  what  height  in  railroad  preferment 
might  it  not  lead  him?  The  brain  of  the  bewildered 
man  grew  dizzy  at  the  prospect.  He  pulled  his  cap 
over  his  eyes,  and  coughed  a  couple  of  times. 

"Mr.  Truetell,"  blurted  Wheeler,  finally,  "I've 
never  done  such  a  thing  in  my  life,  but  I  'm  hanged 
if  I  don't  take  a  chance  this  time." 

Bill's  palm  slid  down  the  railroad  man's  sleeve 
until  it  met  his  hand  in  a  hearty  clasp. 

"  You  '11  never  regret  it,  if  you  live  to  be  a  thousand," 
said  the  manager  of  "The  Gay  Gothamites." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  station.  Wheeler 
unlocked  the  door  and  ushered  his  two  theatrical 
friends  into  a  dingy  little  office  containing  a  few  worn- 
out  pieces  of  furniture  and  a  worn-out  cat  slumbering 
peacefully  by  the  fire. 

"Here,  pussy,  pussy,"  cried  Wheeler. 

The  cat  reluctantly  arose,  arched  her  back  so  high 
it  appeared  in  danger  of  snapping  in  two,  and  walked 
leisurely  to  the  station  agent. 

"  Don't  you  think  she  's  a  wonder,  Mr.  Truetell  ?  " 
asked  the  proud  possessor  of  the  feline. 

[45] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

"A  perfect  beauty/'  replied  Bill,  who  hated  the 
sight  of  cats.  "  What  is  she,  an  Angora  ?  " 

"No;  she's  from  Mighton.  Been  with  me  since  I 
came  here,  twelve  years  ago,"  Wheeler  explained. 
He  sat  down,  took  the  pet  on  his  lap  and  rubbed  her 
head  with  his  forefinger,  a  delicate  mark  of  affection 
which  the  elderly  pussy  acknowledged  by  purring 
loudly.  Bill  began  to  grow  nervous.  Every  time 
Wheeler  rubbed  the  cat's  head  the  tickets  to  Mighton 
appeared  to  be  farther  and  farther  away. 

"  I  can  sit  here  and  do  this  by  the  hour,"  announced 
Wheeler,  continuing  to  caress  his  pet,  and  extending 
the  scope  of  the  stroking  operation  from  her  head  to 
her  back.  "  It  seems  to  please  her  so  much." 

"I  '11  be  hanged  if  it  pleases  me,"  was  Bill's  mental 
comment. 

He  looked  at  Wheeler  imploringly,  and  bestowed  a 
savage  glance  on  pussy,  his  expression  plainly  in 
dicating  a  strong  desire  to  kick  the  animal  out  of  the 
office. 

Wheeler  did  not  notice  his  anger,  for  just  then  he 
was  oblivious  to  everything  save  the  purring  creature 
on  his  lap.  He  had  forgotten  Bill,  the  local  manager, 
his  own  perplexity  over  the  question  of  the  tickets  for 
"The  Gay  Gothamites,"  and  his  burning  ambition  to 
meet  the  general  passenger  agent  and  climb  the  ladder 
of  railroad  fame.  Life  to  him  at  that  moment  repre 
sented  nothing  beyond  his  cat.  The  pendulum  of  his 

[46] 


SUCCESSFUL   EXPEDIENTS 

existence  swung  in  accord  with  his  successive  strokes 
up  and  down  pussy's  back. 

"Will  he  ever  come  to?"  thought  Bill,  anxiously. 

As  there  seemed  to  be  no  prospect  of  an  early 
change  in  Wheeler's  abstracted  condition,  the  distressed 
theatrical  man  resorted  to  strategy.  Holding  his  cane 
behind  him,  he  gently  scratched  the  floor  in  imitation 
of  the  gnawing  of  a  rat.  The  ruse  had  the  desired 
effect.  The  cat  leaped  from  her  master's  knee  in  the 
direction  of  the  sound,  while  the  station  agent  stared 
about  like  a  person  awakening  from  a  trance. 

"By  Jove!"  said  he.  "I  'd  almost  forgotten  what 
we  came  down  here  for.  Ah,  now  I  remember.  How 
many  in  the  troupe,  Mr.  Truetell  ?  " 

"  Twenty-four  and  a  half,"  rejoined  Bill,  brightening 
up. 

"  Got  a  kid  along  ?  "  inquired  Reece. 

"  Yes,  little  Luke  Burke.  He  's  an  Irish  picka 
ninny.  He  helps  props,  but  we  carry  him  mostly  for 
luck,"  Bill  replied. 

While  this  discussion  regarding  the  "half"  was  in 
progress,  Wheeler  opened  his  ticket  rack  and  took  out 
what  was  necessary  for  the  transportation  of  the  com 
pany  to  Mighton.  Stamping  the  tickets,  he  handed 
them  to  the  self-constituted  friend  of  the  general 
passenger  agent,  who  accepted  them  with  profuse 
declarations  of  the  glowing  tribute  he  should  pay  to 
Wheeler  when  he  saw  Arthur  again. 


BILL  TRUETELL 

"And   now,  gentlemen,"    concluded    Bill,    "we'll 
adjourn  to  my  hotel  and  take  a  nightcap." 


"THE  STATION  AGENT  STARED  ABOUT  LIKE  A  PERSON  AWAKEN 
ING  FROM  A  TRANCE" 

His  good  humor,  resulting  from  his  apparent  suc 
cess  in  preventing  the  troupe  from  becoming  permanent 

[48] 


SUCCESSFUL  EXPEDIENTS 

residents  of  Branton,  evinced  itself  to  such  a  degree 
that  he  actually  stopped  on  his  way  out  of  the  office  to 
pat  the  cat's  head,  and  say,  "  Good  pussy." 

The  hotel  was  two  blocks  away.  Bill's  feelings 
continued  at  the  enthusiastic  pitch  until  the  first  block 
was  passed.  Then  they  dropped  to  the  despondent 
point,  as  his  mercurial  disposition  underwent  a  change. 
A  dread  forced  itself  upon  him  that  even  with  the  rail 
road  tickets  in  his  pocket,  the  troupe's  departure  from 
the  town  was  not  yet  assured,  for  there  were  hotel  Hills 
to  be  paid,  amounting  to  twenty-five  dollars  at  the 
lowest  calculation. 

"  It  looks  as  if  I  'm  up  against  it  a-plenty,  and  this 
town  is  the  first  crack  out  of  the  box,"  was  Bill's  gloomy 
mental  summing-up  of  the  situation. 

The  three  men  halted  in  front  of  a  rickety  yel 
low  structure  bearing  the  pretentious  sign,  "The 
Utopia." 

"  Come  in,  gentlemen,"  said  Bill,  making  an  heroic 
effort  to  appear  cheerful  as  well  as  hospitable. 

They  entered  the  office.  At  the  left  of  the  entrance 
was  the  registry  desk.  Behind  it  the  clerk  sat,  fast 
asleep,  his  chair  tilted  against  the  wall,  his  legs  stretched 
across  the  desk,  and  his  feet  resting  on  the  open  register, 
as  though  to  preclude  a  belated  guest  from  signing  his 
name  without  first  arousing  him. 

Leading  from  the  right  of  the  office  was  a  dining- 
room,  the  only  occupants  of  which  were  two  women 

[49] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

and  a  man,  holding  a  convivial  session  at  the  centre 
table.  The  women,  seeing  Truetell  through  the  open 
door,  nodded,  and  beckoned  to  him  to  join  their 
group. 

"Who  are  the  skirts,  Bill?"  whispered  the  local 
manager. 

"A  couple  of  my  troupe,"  was  the  reply.  "I  won 
der  who  the  chump  is  with  them  ?  " 

"Why,  he's  the  landlord  of  this  hotel,"  Reece 
answered. 

"Serves  him  right,"  Bill  muttered  to  himself.  "I 
won't  do  a  thing  to  him." 

The  two  actresses  continuing  to  beckon,  Bill  and 
his  companions  entered  the  dining-room.  One  of  the 
ladies,  a  very  tall  person,  arose,  and  in  a  very  high 
voice  said:  "Be  sociable,  Mr.  Truetell.  Do  sit  down 
and  join  us,  with  your  friends.  This  is  Mr.  Bennett. 
He  owns  the  hotel,  and  he  's  keeping  this  room  open 
after  hours  just  for  us.  Is  n't  he  a  dear  ?  He  was  over 
to  the  show  to-night." 

Bill,  hoping  to  start  the  conversation  ball  rolling, 
inquired  how  he  liked  the  performance. 

"  Great ! "  replied  the  landlord,  laconically  and  sul 
lenly.  His  hilarity  seemed  to  vanish  completely  with 
the  entrance  of  the  three  newcomers.  He  did  not  even 
turn  his  head  to  acknowledge  the  introduction.  His 
attention  appeared  to  be  exclusively  directed  toward 
the  tall  actress.  He  was  a  small,  stout  person,  with 

[50] 


SUCCESSFUL   EXPEDIENTS 

bulging  eyes,  which  glistened  with  admiration  as  he 
surveyed  the  statuesque  proportions  of  the  Gay 
Gothamite. 

"How  did  you  like  the  song  by  Miss  Clayton?" 
persisted  Bill,  referring  to  the  object  of  the  landlord's 
affections. 

"Great!"  This  time  with  an  extra  emphasis. 

"  Nice  weather  we  're  having  after  the  rain  ?  " 

"Great!" 

In  despair  of  changing  the  monosyllabic  responses, 
Bill  ordered  drinks.  When  they  arrived,  the  landlord 
took  up  his  glass  and  clinked  it  against  Miss  Clayton's. 
Bill  gave  the  toast,  "Here  's  looking  at  you,"  but  the 
proprietor  of  the  "  Utopia,"  ignoring  all  drinking  cus 
toms  and  traditions,  did  not  look  at  him  at  all. 

"I  must  butt  in  somehow,"  reflected  Bill.  Then 
he  said,  aloud:  "When  you  have  a  little  leisure,  Mr. 
Bennett,  I  'd  like  a  few  minutes'  talk  with  you." 

No  reply  from  the  infatuated  landlord. 

Bill  repeated  the  suggestion. 

Again  there  was  no  response. 

In  the  meantime,  the  landlord's  impersonation  of 
the  Sphinx  and  Bill's  discomfiture  were  highly  amusing 
to  Reece,  Wheeler,  and  Miss  Clayton's  actress  com 
panion,  who  formed  a  congenial  trio  at  the  other  end 
of  the  table. 

The  ignored  travelling  manager,  convinced  that, 
unassisted,  he  could  never  reach  the  haven  of  the  land- 

[51] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

lord's  confidence,  sent  a  signal  for  help  to  Miss  Clayton, 
in  the  form  of  an  expressive  wink.  That  knowing 
artiste  threw  him  a  life-line,  as  follows: 

"Mr.  Truetell  wants  to  chat  with  you,"  and  she 
smiled  graciously  on  her  little  captive.  "I  know 
you  '11  do  it  to  please  me.  You  boys  can  go  out  to  the 
office  and  have  a  talk,  while  we  wait  for  you  in  here." 

It  was  impossible  to  resist  this  appeal.  The  two 
"  boys, "  neither  of  whom  was  a  day  younger  than  forty, 
walked  out  to  the  office  desk,  where  the  clerk  still  main 
tained  his  somnolent  position.  This  apparent  disre 
gard  of  duty  enraged  the  landlord,  who  lifted  the  feet 
of  his  sleeping  employee  from  the  registry  book  and 
swung  them  around  so  violently  that  the  clerk  slid 
from  his  seat  to  the  floor.  Thus  rudely  awakened,  the 
hotel  official,  imagining  a  guest  had  just  arrived, 
jumped  up,  banged  a  bell  on  the  counter,  and  yelled, 
"Front!" 

"  I  '11  front  you  if  you  go  to  sleep  again ! "  threat 
ened  his  employer. 

He  looked  into  the  dining-room  to  notice  the 
effect  of  his  rigorous  discipline  on  the  tall  actress. 

A  smile  of  approval  was  his  reward. 

"  Let  's  sit  here,"  said  the  hotel  proprietor  to  Bill, 
choosing  seats  that  commanded  a  good  view  of  Miss 
Clayton. 

When  they  had  seated  themselves,  Bill  started 
immediately  to  make  his  plea. 

[52] 


SUCCESSFUL  EXPEDIENTS 

"  You  see,  it 's  like  this,  old  man.  The  house  to 
night  was  —  er  —  was  —  er  —  slightly  —  small.  You 
must  have  noticed  it  yourself,  if  you  were  there." 

"Slightly,"  repeated  the  landlord,  in  a  mocking 
tone  that  boded  no  good  for  the  pleading  manager. 

"Well,  decidedly  small,"  conceded  Bill,  who  had 
no  desire  to  argue  about  the  size  of  the  audience.  "  It 
took  all  of  my  share  for  railroad  fares,  and  I  've  been 
figuring  on  what  to  do  about  your  bill.  You  see,  we 
leave  at  ten  in  the  morning,  and  —  " 

"You  leave  if  you  settle.  Otherwise  not,"  the 
hotel  man  interposed. 

Bill  expostulated:  "Oh,  I  say,  old  man,  you 
would  n't  hold  our  trunks,  would  you  ?  I  can  send 
you  the  money  from  Mighton." 

"  I  '11  hold  the  troupe's  trunks  and  the  troupe  also," 
snarled  the  landlord,  "if  there  are  any  sheriffs  here 
abouts;  and  I  guess  I  can  locate  one  or  two." 

During  this  conversation,  the  eyes  of  the  owner  of 
the  "Utopia"  never  for  an  instant  turned  toward  the 
person  with  whom  he  was  talking.  Crouching  low  in 
his  chair,  he  had  lifted  his  right  foot  upon  his  left  knee 
and  elevated  his  right  knee  until  it  was  on  a  level  with  his 
eyes.  This  knee  he  clasped  firmly  in  both  hands,  and, 
having  closed  his  left  eye,  he  used  the  top  of  his  knee 
as  a  sight  over  which  he  directed  a  fixed,  unvarying 
gaze  with  his  right  eye  at  his  inamorata  in  the  dining- 
room  beyond. 

[53] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

"  You  would  n't  sic  the  sheriff  on  us,  would  you  ?  " 
Bill  asked. 

"In  a  minute,"  was  the  landlord's  quick  rejoinder. 
"  Do  you  think  I  'm  running  this  place  for  my  health, 
or  for  the  benefit  of  a  lot  of  fly-by-nights  ?  " 

Without  attempting  to  hang  an  answer  on  either 
horn  of  this  dilemma,  Bill  made  a  further  suggestion : 

"  If  you  '11  come  with  us  to  Mighton  to-morrow, 
I  '11  give  you  an  order  on  the  box-office  there,  and  you 
can  get  your  money  out  of  the  first  receipts  coming  to 
me.  Besides,  I  '11  pay  your  railroad  fare  both  ways." 

"  Me  —  travel  —  with — the  —  troupe ! "  The  aston 
ished  landlord  scowled,  and  spoke  slowly,  accom 
panying  the  five  words  with  as  many  successive  taps 
on  his  shirt  bosom. 

"  Only  as  far  as  Mighton,  and  we  '11  try  to  make  the 
trip  pleasant  for  you,"  insinuated  the  showman,  jerk 
ing  his  thumb  in  the  direction  of  the  dining-room. 

Having  played  his  last  card,  Bill  watched  the  land 
lord's  face  for  the  result. 

It  was  soon  apparent.  The  scowl  that  had  knit 
ted  his  brows  almost  over  his  eyes  slowly  disappeared. 
The  hardened  expression  on  his  leathery  countenance 
also  vanished,  a  silly  smile  appearing  in  its  place.  For 
the  first  time  that  night,  he  turned  and  looked  at  Bill. 
Taking  the  manager's  hand,  he  said :  "  All  right,  I  'm 
with  you." 

Bill  returned  the  handshake  with  interest,  and  the 

[54] 


SUCCESSFUL   EXPEDIENTS 

important  transaction  having  been  thus  amicably 
settled,  they  walked  back  to  the  dining-room,  arm  in 
arm. 

"Miss  Clayton,"  Bill  announced,  gleefully,  "I've 
news  for  you.  Mr.  Bennett  is  coming  with  us  to 
Mighton  to-morrow.  He  has  some  law  business  to 
attend  to  over  there,  and  he  's  just  promised  me  to  take 
ourtrain  in  the  morning,  and  call  to  see  us  at  the  Opera 
House  in  the  evening." 

The  tall  actress  glanced  quizzically  at  her  manager. 
His  alleged  reason  for  Bennett's  trip  to  Mighton  did 
not  satisfy  her  discriminating  mind.  Experience  had 
taught  her  that  a  hotel  landlord  travelling  with  a 
troupe  indicated  that  the  treasury  of  the  company  was 
not  as  sound  as  it  ought  to  be,  but,  if  the  realization 
of  such  a  condition  in  "  The  Gay  Gothamites  "  caused 
her  to  question  TruetelFs  monetary  stability,  she  did 
not  express  her  suspicion.  With  the  tact  of  a  born 
diplomat,  she  beamed  on  the  landlord,  and  coquet- 
tishly  asked,  "  Are  you  glad  you  Jre  coming  ?  " 

"  Am  I  glad  ?  "  repeated  the  happy  boniface.  "  Here 
you,"  calling  a  waiter,  "bring  us  the  best  you  've  got 
in  the  house  to  eat  and  drink.  It 's  my  treat." 


[55] 


CHAPTER  V 

MINE  HOST  GOES  ALONG 

NEXT  morning  all  the  members  of  the  com 
pany,  with  the  exception  of  Miss  Snapper,  re 
ported  at  the  Branton  station  before  the  hour 
scheduled  for  departure.  The  injured  dancer's  foot 
caused  her  such  agony  during  the  night  that  she 
decided  to  return  to  New  York  for  better  treatment 
than  the  country  doctor  could  give,  and  left  by  an 
early  train.  The  immediate  need  of  somebody  to  fill 
her  place  rendered  the  presence  of  the  Van  Balken 
girl  most  fortunate.  Bill,  first  to  arrive  at  the  station, 
breathed  more  easily  when  the  Whirlwind  Trio  ap 
peared.  Hastening  to  the  daughter,  he  told  her  that 
Miss  Snapper  had  gone  away,  and  added,  "  Now,  kid, 
it 's  up  to  you." 

The  little  Van  Balken's  brown  eyes  gleamed  and 
her  snub  nose  tilted  with  pride,  as  she  exclaimed: 

"  Did  n't  I  say  I  'd  be  letter  perfect  this  morning  ? 
Well,  you  can  bet  your  last  dime  I  am,  and  I  '11  give 
them  a  performance  to-night  that  '11  be  the  real  genuine 
thing." 

Her  slangy  confidence  removed  every  doubt  from 
Bill's  mind. 

[56] 


MINE   HOST  GOES   ALONG 

He  thanked  her  with  a  "  Good  girl,"  and  patted  her 
pale  cheek,  still  further  to  evince  his  gratitude. 

The  last  arrivals  at  the  station  were  the  very  tall 
Miss  Clayton  and  the  very  short  Mr.  Bennett.  They 
came  together.  She  stalked  down  the  platform,  the  fas 
cinated  boniface  puffing  along  beside  her,  carrying  her 
large  valise,  and  trying  his  best  to  make  his  fat  little 
legs  keep  pace  with  her  long  stately  stride.  The  late 
supper  of  the  night  before  had  not  tended  to  put  the 
lady  in  an  amiable  frame  of  mind  this  morning.  As 
she  walked  majestically  to  the  car,  she  hardly  deigned 
to  notice  anybody,  and  least  of  all  the  little  landlord, 
trotting,  poodle-like,  at  her  side. 

Wheeler,  the  station  agent,  bustled  about  as  actively 
as  if  he  had  received  cash  for  the  company's  tickets. 
When  the  train  arrived,  he  superintended  the  loading 
of  the  baggage  and  escorted  Bill  to  the  rear  platform 
of  the  last  car,  where  they  took  cordial  leave  of  each 
other. 

"  Don't  forget  to  mention  that  little  matter  to  Mr. 
Arthur ! "  sang  out  the  ambitious  railroad  man,  as  the 
train  commenced  to  move. 

"  Never  fear.  Trust  me  to  land  you  all  right."  Bill 
waved  a  good-bye  to  Wheeler,  and  joined  his  company 
in  the  day  coach. 

He  was  in  excellent  spirits,  though  the  troubles  of 
the  tour  were  only  beginning.  His  sense  of  happiness 
had  its  origin  in  his  ultra-sanguine  temperament,  which 

[57] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

enabled  him  while  on  tour  occasionally  to  overlook  the 
discouraging  conditions  of  the  present  and  gaze  far 
away  into  the  future,  where,  he  was  confident,  fat  box- 
office  receipts  eventually  awaited  him.  His  mental 
vision  was  full  of  this  glittering  prospect  as  he  entered 
the  railroad  car  where  "The  Gay  Gothamites"  had 
spread  themselves  over  twice  as  many  seats  as  there 
were  people  in  the  organization. 

If  he  had  had  eighty  thousand  dollars  in  his  pocket, 
instead  of  eighty  cents,  Bill  would  not  have  walked 
down  the  aisle  in  a  more  contented  frame  of  mind,  and 
the  pleasurable  sensation  was  considerably  increased 
by  the  snub-nosed  soubrette,  who  smiled  winningly  as  he 
came  to  the  seats  where  the  Whirlwind  Trio  had  settled 
themselves.  The  smile  encouraged  the  self-satisfied 
manager  to  stop  and  tell  the  girl  a  story,  to  which  she 
listened  eagerly.  Bill  himself  laughed  heartily  at  the 
finish,  and  the  successor  of  Miss  Snapper  nearly  went 
into  hysterics  to  prove  her  appreciation  of  his  ability  as 
an  entertainer. 

When  the  conductor  announced  the  name  of  the 
town  of  the  troupe's  destination,  there  was  a  general 
scramble  for  hand-baggage.  The  little  Van  Balken 
experiencing  some  difficulty  in  lifting  her  valise  from 
the  high  rack  above  her  seat,  Bill  hastened  to  her 
assistance. 

Taking  it  down,  he  said,  "  Pretty  big  one,  is  n't  it, 
for  a  small  girl  to  carry  ?  " 

[58] 


MINE   HOST   GOES   ALONG 

"Yes,"  was  the  lisping  reply;  "  but  pop  has  to  han 
dle  his  own  and  ma's.  I  'm  used  to  carrying  it  myself. 
Besides,  I  'm  strong  for  my  size." 

"How  old  are  you,  kid?" 

"Nineteen,  Mr.  Truetell." 

"  Let  me  juggle  the  grip  for  you  as  far  as  the  hotel," 
volunteered  the  manager. 

"Oh,  sir,"  she  shyly  made  answer,  "what  would 
the  company  say?" 

"Forget  them,"  Bill  commanded. 

They  headed  the  procession  of  troupers  up  the  long 
hill  from  the  depot.  Marching  behind  their  offspring 
and  the  solicitous  manager  were  the  elder  Van  Balkens. 
Next  in  line  came  Miss  Clayton,  with  her  enslaved 
landlord.  The  actress  had  not  yet  recovered  from  her 
indisposition.  Her  demeanor  toward  the  world  in  gen 
eral  and  her  escort  in  particular  was  still  frigid.  The 
patient  Bennett,  having  had  no  previous  experience 
with  the  caprices  of  stage  artistes,  was  at  an  absolute 
loss  to  reconcile  her  geniality  of  the  night  before  with 
her  contemptuous  treatment  of  him  in  the  morning. 
His  lack  of  comprehension  in  this  respect,  however, 
did  not  manifest  itself  in  words.  He  did  not  have  the 
courage  to  ask  to  be  enlightened  on  the  subject,  and, 
moreover,  he  was  content  to  be  near  her,  his  memory 
carrying  the  recollection  of  her  former  good  nature 
while  his  hand  carried  her  bulky  satchel. 

Only  once,  as  they  climbed  the  hill  on  their  way  to 

[59] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

the  hotel,  she  condescended  to  notice  his  presence  by 
asking,  "  Is  it  heavy  ?  " 

"Not  —  a  —  bit,"  panted  Bennett,  mopping  his 
brow. 

"Never  mind.  The  hotel  's  only  a  mile  off,"  was 
her  reassuring  comment. 

The  landlord  paused  a  moment  to  shift  the  heavy 
valise  from  his  right  to  his  left  hand.  This  movement 
resulted  in  a  lowering  of  his  left  shoulder,  and  what 
appeared  to  be  a  sympathetic  inclination  of  the  left  side 
of  his  face.  As  he  puffed  along  in  this  position,  he  was 
able  to  maintain  a  continuous  upward  gaze  at  the 
haughty  countenance  of  the  tall  actress,  who  allowed 
him  to  run  the  risk  of  a  dislocation  of  the  neck  without 
a  word  of  protest. 

When  Truetell's  aggregation  of  Thespians  arrived 
at  the  hotel  they  saw  a  long  streamer  of  crape  suspended 
from  the  front  door-bell. 

"  That  's  a  good,  healthy  omen  for  to-night's  busi 
ness,"  remarked  Bill,  opening  the  door  and  leading  the 
way  to  the  desk  in  the  office. 

His  company  followed,  ranging  themselves  around 
their  manager  in  a  semicircle,  while  he  signed  their 
names  to  the  register.  After  affixing  the  last  signature, 
he  drew  a  curved  line,  inclosing  all  the  names,  and  wrote 
in  large  letters  on  the  outside  of  the  line  the  title  of  the 
company.  This  he  considered  not  only  a  catchy  method 
of  advertising,  but  also  a  desirable  medium  for  impress- 

[60] 


SHE  CONDESCENDED  TO  NOTICE  HIS  PRESENCE  BY  ASKING, 
'Is  IT  HEAVY?'  " 


MINE   HOST   GOES   ALONG 

ing  the  person  behind  the  desk  with  the  strength  and 
personnel  of  the  organization. 

"  Is  the  landlord  in  ?  "  questioned  Bill  of  the  youth 
who  had  handed  him  the  pen  and  dried  the  ink  with  an 
ugly-looking  blue  blotter  as  he  finished  his  decoration 
of  the  register  page. 

"  I  am  the  landlord,"  was  the  proud  declaration  of 
the  boyish  individual. 

"  Why,  certainly,"  apologized  the  manager.  "  It 's 
my  mistake.  I  had  in  mind  an  aid  chap  who  ran  the 
place  years  ago,  when  I  played  here  with  the '  Bon  Bons.' 
But,  I  say,  who  's  dead  ?  None  of  your  folks,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  It 's  only  my  grand-uncle,"  said  the  young  man. 
"We  have  the  funeral  services  at  the  hotel  this  noon. 
I  don't  suppose  your  company  '11  mind  the  preaching 
and  singing?" 

"  Mind  it  ?  "  Bill  repeated.  "  Why,  all  of  my  people  are 
singers.  They  '11  join  in  the  service,  if  you  want  them." 

The  landlord,  with  a  doubtful  air,  surveyed  the 
line  of  Gay  Gothamites  standing  in  front  of  the  desk. 
He  tried  hard  to  imagine  them  rendering  an  appropri 
ate  hymn,  but  he  could  not  banish  the  fear  that,  in  an 
unconscious  moment,  they  might  burst  into  a  coon  song. 

"  Much  obliged,"  was  the  landlord's  verdict,  "  but  I 
guess  the  church  quartette  '11  do." 

He  proceeded  to  assign  the  members  of  the  com 
pany  to  their  rooms,  demonstrating  his  versatility  in 
hotel  duties  by  personally  conducting  them  to  their 

[63] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

quarters,  carrying  their  luggage,  running  the  elevator, 
and  answering  divers  calls  for  ice  water  and  other  bev 
erages  of  a  higher  temperature. 

He  had  returned  to  his  desk  from  one  of  these 
errands,  when  the  new  soubrette  rushed  down  the  stairs 
to  the  office.  Bill,  who  was  opening  the  outer  door  on 
his  way  to  the  theatre,  noticed  an  alarmed  expression 
on  her  face,  and  paused. 

Hurrying  to  the  desk,  the  little  Van  Balken  begged, 
"  Oh,  sir,  can't  you  change  my  room  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  've  one  of  the  best  in  the  house.  What 's 
the  matter?"  asked  the  youthful  landlord. 

"  I  'm  right  next  to  its  room  and  I  've  got  cold  chills 
being  so  close  to  it,"  explained  the  girl,  with  a  shiver. 

"What's  it?" 

"Your  grand-uncle." 

The  grand-nephew,  taking  umbrage  at  hearing  his 
lately  deceased  relative  thus  neutrally  alluded  to,  replied 
with  a  touch  of  asperity:  "Too  late  to  change  you 
now.  All  the  other  rooms  are  taken." 

Bill,  who  had  overheard  the  conversation,  walked 
to  the  desk. 

"My  room's  on  the  floor  above,"  he  suggested. 
"  I  '11  change  with  her." 

"  Are  n't  you  afraid  ?  "  asked  the  little  dancer. 

"Not  of  dead  ones.  Live  folks  bother  me  more," 
Bill  replied,  philosophically. 

[64] 


CHAPTER  VI 

AN  ADDITION  TO  THE  COMPANY 

THAT  evening  the  attendance  at  the  Mighton 
Opera  House  was  as  scant  as  the  costumes  worn 
by  the  female  contingent  of  "  The  Gay  Gotham- 
ites  "  in  the  Amazon  march.  The  most  appreciative 
spectator  was  Bennett,  the  Branton  landlord.  He 
escorted  Miss  Clayton  to  the  theatre,  and  after  seeing 
her  through  the  rickety  stage  door,  he  went  to  the 
front  of  the  house  to  collect  his  money  from  Truetell. 

"I'm  very  busy  just  now,  old  man,"  said  Bill, 
who  was  engaged  in  the  laborious  duty  of  waiting  for 
the  audience  to  materialize.  "Suppose  you  step  in 
side  and  watch  the  show  until  I  get  a  little  leisure." 

Summoning  an  usher,  he  gave  his  order:  "  Show 
the  gentleman  to  a  seat  in  the  best  private  box  in  the 
house." 

Bennett,  beguiled  by  the  prospect  of  a  near  view  of 
his  burlesque  divinity,  suffered  himself  to  be  led  to  a 
seat  in  the  only  private  box  the  opera  house  could  boast. 
There  he  comfortably  bestowed  his  fat  little  figure, 
and  did  not  change  his  position  throughout  the  entire 
performance. 

[65] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

When  the  curtain  descended  for  the  last  time,  Bill 
went  into  the  manager's  office,  sat  down,  extended  his 
legs  at  full  length,  pushed  his  silk  hat  as  far  back  on 
his  head  as  it  would  stand  without  falling  off,  clasped 
his  hands  under  his  chin,  and  devoted  himself  to  serious 
reflection  on  the  situation  confronting  him.  With  his 
share  of  the  meagre  receipts  he  had  settled  for  the 
railroad  tickets  from  Branton  to  Mighton  and  had  paid 
for  the  transportation  from  Mighton  to  Thone  Bridge, 
which  was  the  next  stand, —  fortunately  only  a  few 
miles  away.  These  disbursements  left  him  less  than 
two  dollars  with  which  to  satisfy  the  claims  of  the 
Branton  and  Mighton  landlords.  He  was  puzzling 
his  brain  over  this  important  monetary  problem  when 
Bennett  entered. 

"I'm  ready  now,"  was  the  landlord's  greeting  to 
the  despondent  manager.  "  Let 's  settle  up,  and  I  '11 
take  the  first  train  back  to  Branton  in  the  morning." 

"  Certainly,"  Bill  replied.  "Sit  down,  won't  you, 
and  —  and  —  here,  take  a  cigar,"  dislodging  a  long 
weed  from  the  top  pocket  of  his  checked  waistcoat 
and  handing  it  to  his  creditor. 

The  landlord  sat  down,  took  the  cigar,  and,  having 
eyed  it  suspiciously,  gave  an  equally  suspicious  glance 
at  Bill. 

"  How  'd  you  like  the  show  to-night  ? "  asked  the 
manager. 

"The  show's  all  right,"   Bennett  answered,  pet- 

[66] 


ADDITION   TO   THE   COMPANY 

tishly,  "  but  I  'd  like  to  see  my  dough  a  great  deal 
better." 

"Your  what?"  inquired  Bill,  pleading  innocence 
of  the  slang  to  gain  time. 

"  You  know  very  well  what  it  is,  though  I  don't 
think  you  ever  saw  much  of  it.  My  dust,  my  coin, 
my  money."  Bennett  pounded  his  hand  on  the  arm 
of  his  chair  with  each  definition  of  the  issue  between 
them. 

"Old  man,"  said  Bill,  in  a  mollifying  tone,  "I  un 
derstand  what  you  mean.  All  I  ask  is  for  you  to  have 
a  little  patience." 

"Perhaps  you  expect  me  to  travel  with  the  troupe 
all  season?"  was  Bennett's  sarcastic  suggestion. 

"There  are  worse  companies  than  this,"  Bill  de 
clared. 

The  Branton  boniface  laughed  jeeringly.  "  I  'd 
like  to  know  what  kind  of  nerve  food  you  use!"  he 
said.  He  took  out  his  watch  as  he  was  speaking,  and, 
noting  the  time,  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"What 's  the  matter?"  asked  Bill. 

"  I  've  got  an  engagement  to  lunch  with  Miss 
Clayton  at  the  hotel,"  nervously  responded  the  other. 

"  Don't  let  me  keep  you,"  said  Bill,  graciously. 

"I'm  late  already,"  was  the  landlord's  rueful 
reply,  again  looking  at  his  watch.  "But  before  I  go, 
straighten  out  my  account,  won't'  you  ?  " 

"  Now,  you  see,  old  man  —  "  began  Bill. 

[67] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

Bennett  impatiently  broke  in  with,  "Is  it  a  long 
story?" 

"I  simply  wanted  to  explain,"  Truetell  stated, 
"that—" 

"I  don't  want  any  explanations.  I  want  my 
money,"  again  interrupted  Bennett.  "And  I  must 
have  it  to-night.  Now,  look  here,"  pointing  his 
finger  threateningly  at  his  debtor,  "  I  '11  give  you 
just  half  an  hour  to  produce.  You  meet  me  in  the 
hotel  then,  and  have  the  stuff  with  you,  or  there  '11  be 
trouble."  He  went  out,  giving  the  door  a  slam  to 
emphasize  his  declaration. 

Bill  leaped  from  his  seat  and  made  a  dive  across 
the  room  for  the  telephone.  Hastily  ringing  the  bell, 
he  asked  for  the  hotel.  When  his  call  was  answered, 
he  inquired  if  Miss  Clayton  had  returned  from  the 
theatre. 

"  Just  arrived,"  his  informant  announced.  "  She  's 
in  the  office  now." 

"Send  her  to  the  'phone,  quick,"  commanded  the 
manager.  The  tall  actress  having  placed  the  receiver 
to  her  ear,  Bill  requested  her  to  induce  Bennett  to  go 
with  the  company  to  the  next  stand.  "  It  '11  oblige  me 
greatly,"  Bill  urged.  "Does  he  go?" 

"  He  goes,"  was  her  terse  response. 

Bill  evinced  his  appreciation  with  such  expressions 
as,  "  You  're  a  dandy ! "  and  "  Good  girl ! "  A  new 
idea  came  to  him.  "  I  say,  Miss  Clayton,"  he  went  on; 

[68] 


ADDITION    TO   THE   COMPANY 

"can't  you  introduce  your  friend,  Miss  Parker,  to 
that  kid  landlord  up  there  ?  We  may  have  to  take  him 
along  too." 

"  I  '11  do  what  I  can,"  was  Miss  Clayton's  encour 
aging  rejoinder. 

Bill  thanked  her  warmly,  and  having  hung  the  re 
ceiver  on  the  hook,  sat  down  to  continue  his  attempt 
to  solve  his  financial  difficulty.  The  prospect  did 
not  appear  so  black  now  that  Miss  Clayton  had  prof 
fered  her  expert  assistance,  but  it  was  not  yet  bright 
enough  to  induce  an  appreciable  amount  of  confidence. 
Suppose,  thought  Bill,  her  allurements  were  not  suf 
ficiently  strong  to  carry  the  fat  little  landlord  to  the 
next  stand!  And,  even  admitting  Miss  Clayton's 
prowess  as  an  enslaver  of  mine  host  Bennett,  where 
was  the  certainty  of  a  similar  capture  of  the  boy  boni- 
face  of  Mighton  by  her  friend,  Miss  Parker!  The 
possibility  of  a  double  success  seemed  to  Bill  so  remote 
that  he  became  a  victim  of  the  gloomiest  forebodings. 
Only  one  light  penetrated  the  darkness  of  his  soul. 
It  was  caused  by  the  recollection  of  the  unquestioned 
hit  scored  that  evening  by  the  Van  Balken  girl.  The 
little  soubrette  with  the  tilted  nose  and  lisping  voice 
had  sung  and  danced  and  played  her  part  in  a  manner 
that  would  have  made  Miss  Snapper  wild  with  jealousy 
if  she  had  seen  the  performance.  While  watching  her, 
Bill  had  forgotten  his  troubles,  and  now,  as  he  recalled 
her  success,  his  courage  returned. 

[69] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

"  If  I  ever  finish  this  tour  and  get  the  troupe  back  to 
New  York/'  he  resolved,  "I  '11  star  her  next  season." 

Strengthened  by  this  laudable  resolution,  he  left  the 
theatre  and  walked  up  the  street  in  the  direction  of  the 
hotel.  On  the  way  he  passed  a  long,  high  wall,  which 
his  fervid  imagination  immediately  covered  with  im 
mense  posters  each  bearing  this  legend* 


ELSIE  VAN  BALKEN 

UNDER  THE  PERSONAL  DIRECTION 
OF 

WILLIAM  TRUETELL 


He  even  went  into  imaginative  details,  and  won 
dered  what  colors  would  be  most  appropriate  for  the 
printing.  Should  the  letters  be  white  on  a  blue  back 
ground,  or  red  on  purple,  or  a  light  shade  of  brown  on 
a  dark  yellow  ?  He  had  nearly  decided  in  favor  of 
the  last  combination  when  he  reached  the  hotel. 

The  boyish  landlord  was  not  at  his  accustomed 
post  behind  the  office  desk,  his  place  being  filled  by  an 
individual  just  as  youthful,  who  informed  the  inquiring 
manager  that  he  was  the  "  proprierator's  brother," 

[70] 


ADDITION   TO   THE   COMPANY 

and  that  the  "  proprierator "  himself  was  in  a  private 
supper  room  "with  some  of  the  show  people." 

This  was  cheering  news  to  Bill.  His  heart  was  glad 
dened  still  further  when  he  entered  the  room  to  which 
the  clerk  directed  him.  It  was  not  a  large  apartment 
that  was  devoted  to  private  supper  purposes  and  it  was 
not  a  large  table  around  which  the  two  landlords  and 
the  two  actresses  were  seated.  The  absence  of  space 
was  the  reason,  no  doubt,  why  the  quartette  sat  so 
close  together.  The  owner  of  the  "  Utopia  "  of  Branton 
was  gazing  lovingly  into  Miss  Clayton's  eyes,  while  the 
Mighton  host,  having  apparently  v  succumbed  to  the 
charms  of  Miss  Parker,  was  paying  similar  attention  to 
her  lustrous  orbs.  Each  gallant  landlord  held  his 
lady  by  the  hand.  Each  glared  savagely  at  Bill,  who, 
upon  entering,  had  dispensed  with  the  formality  of 
knocking. 

"Beg  pardon,"  apologized  the  manager,  looking 
up  at  the  ceiling.  "  Guess  I  've  intruded." 

"What  the  devil  do  you  want?"  growled  Bennett. 

"  Did  n't  you  say  you  'd  like  to  see  me  in  half  an 
hour?"  meekly  interrogated  Truetell. 

"  See  nothin',"  Bennett  snarled.  "  I  'm  going  with 
the  troupe  to  Thone  Bridge.  You  can  settle  there." 

Bill  readily  acquiesced  with,  "Just  as  you  say, 
old  man."  Recognizing  the  propitious  nature  of  the 
situation,  he  turned  to  the  other  amorous  hotel  pro 
prietor,  and  asked: 

[73] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

"  Can  I  see  you  for  a  few  moments  ?  " 

The  youthful  landlord  dropped  Miss  Parker's 
hand,  saying,  in  an  annoyed  tone;  "What's  the 
matter  ?  Anything  important  ?  " 

"Not  particularly  important.  Only  your  bill; 
that 's  all.  I  thought  if  you  had  no  objections,  I  'd 
send  the  amount  to  you  from  Thone  Bridge,"  ex 
plained  the  manager. 

"You  needn't  do  that,  Mr.  Truetell,"  chimed  in 
Miss  Parker,  "  because,"  she  continued,  smiling  archly 
at  her  victim,  "  he  's  going  with  us  and  —  " 

"  But  I  have  n't  promised,"  interrupted  the  young 
landlord.  "  It  '11  look  pretty  bad  for  me  to  go  away 
just  after  burying  my  grand-uncle." 

"Your  grand-uncle  won't  care,"  sagely  commented 
Miss  Parker,  "  and  your  brother  can  run  the  hotel  to 
morrow.  Come  on.  You  need  a  little  vacation." 

The  Mighton  landlord  hesitated,  but  did  not 
hesitate  long.  Miss  Parker's  smile  was  irresistible. 
He  did  not  openly  declare  his  willingness  to  accompany 
the  troupe  to  Thone  Bridge,  but  his  expression  plainly 
showed  that  he  would  not  be  left  behind,  and  when  he 
took  up  the  fair  hand  he  had  recently  dropped,  Bill 
decided  a  verbal  assurance  was  unnecessary,  and 
made  a  quick  exit. 


[74] 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  SINGING  LANDLORDS 

I 

INSTEAD  of  alleviating  the  misfortunes  of  "  The 
Gay  Gothamites,"  Thone  Bridge  increased  the 
debit  account  of  the  company.  Bad  luck  had 
set  its  seal  on  the  "Merry  Melange  of  Mirth  and 
Melody."  In  the  advance  circulars  it  was  boldly  set 
forth  that  "  people  were  turned  away  in  large  numbers 
at  every  performance."  Thus  far  the  turning  away  of 
patrons  was  observable  after  the  performances  were 
finished  and  in  numbers  remarkable  only  for  paucity. 

In  Thone  Bridge  the  landlord  of  the  hotel  where 
the  troupe  stopped,  following  the  precedent  established 
by  mine  hosts  of  Branton  and  Mighton,  also  joined  the 
organization  in  the  elusive  hope  of  collecting  his  bill. 
Hostelry  proprietors  in  Riverfall,  Comerset,  Sassonet, 
Wansea,  Miverton,  and  other  less  noted  one-night 
stands  in  that  portion  of  New  England  were  induced 
to  do  likewise.  When  three  weeks  of  the  season  had 
passed  the  show  was  accompanied  by  no  less  than  ten 
landlord  creditors. 

At  this  stage  of  the  route  the  male  members  of  the 
company,  rendered  desperate  through  not  receiving 

[75] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

their  salaries,  organized  a  strike  and  deserted  in  a  body 
at  Warrener,  Rhode  Island.  Bill,  fully  equal  to  the 
emergency,  called  a  meeting  of  the  boniface  contingent 
on  the  stage  of  the  theatre,  and  the  hotel  men,  think 
ing  that  encouraging  news  in  connection  with  their 
unpaid  accounts  was  forthcoming,  responded  to  the 
summons  with  celerity  and  unanimity. 

"Boys,"  said  Bill  to  them  with  his  blandest  smile, 
"Boys,  my  male  chorus  has  quit  me  dead.  What  do 
you  say  if  you  go  on  in  their  places  ?  The  stage  manager 
will  teach  you  the  business  of  the  piece  and  you  've 
heard  the  songs  often  enough  to  know  them  by  heart. 
What  do  you  say,  boys  ? " 

This  alluring  chance  to  step  immediately  into  a  pro 
fession  which  has  been  the  coveted  goal  toward  which 
many  an  aspirant  has  struggled  so  long  and  wearily,  did 
not  excite  any  visible  enthusiasm  among  the  landlords. 

On  the  contrary,  they  greeted  the  proposition  with 
derision,  and  Pearson  of  Wansea,  voicing  the  general 
opinion,  cried  out,  "You  're  the  limit,  Truetell." 

"Limit  nothing!"  retorted  Bill.  "This  is  a  strictly 
common-sense  proposition.  Let 's  get  down  to  cases. 
You  can't  be  tourists  with  the  troupe  all  season.  I  '11 
admit  the  scenery  in  this  part  of  the  country  is  fine,  but 
the  business  is  damn  bad,  and  I  'm  not  running  a 
Cook's  excursion  for  my  health.  It  won't  do  you  boys 
a  bit  of  harm  to  do  a  little  work. 

"Perhaps,"  he  continued  persuasively,   "some  of 

[76] 


THE   SINGING   LANDLORDS 

you  've  got  the  real  talent  and  can  deliver  the  real  goods. 
Think  it  over,  boys.  There  's  twenty  a  week  apiece  for 
you  in  the  job.  If  you  don't  accept  I  close  the  show, 
for  we  can't  proceed  without  a  male  chorus.  Think  it 
over." 

The  landlords  thought  it  over,  and,  retiring  to  a  cor 
ner  of  the  stage,  they  talked  it  over,  jury  fashion,  for 
fully  half  an  hour.  Their  verdict  was  at  last  favorable 
to  the  proposal.  A  variety  of  reasons  governed  the 
decision.  Mine  hosts  of  Branton  and  Mighton,  being 
ruled  largely  by  sentiment,  saw  in  the  new  employment 
an  opportunity  for  closer  association  with  the  Misses 
Clayton  and  Parker  behind  the  footlights. 

That  indescribable  power  of  fascination  which  the 
stage  undoubtedly  possesses,  exerted  its  mysterious 
influence  on  some  of  the  hotel  men,  who  now  began  to 
feel  the  fires  of  histrionic  ambition  kindling  in  their 
breasts.  The  more  recent  additions  to  the  list  of  trav 
elling  landlords,  not  being  aware  of  the  uniformly  bad 
receipts  and  exhausted  revenues,  were  affected  to  a  con 
siderable  extent  by  the  offer  of  twenty  a  week  so  gener 
ously  made  by  Truetell.  Finally,  all  still  clung  to  the 
belief  that  sooner  or  later  a  change  in  the  fortunes  of 
the  show  would  enable  the  manager  to  settle  their  hotel 
accounts.  If  he  disbanded  the  company  at  Warrener, 
as  he  shrewdly  threatened,  though  never  intended,  their 
bills  would  be  forever  unpaid.  It  was  essential,  there 
fore,  to  keep  the  organization  intact,  and  thus  the 

[77] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

landlords  for  their  common  weal  voted  to  transform 
themselves  into  full-fledged  Thespians. 

Bill  expressed  his  appreciation  of  their  resolve  as 
follows:  "Thank  you,  boys.  You  won't  regret  this 
step  in  a  million  years.  Report  for  rehearsal  to-morrow 
morning  at  eleven,  and  don't  be  disturbed  if  Lasker  is 
a  little  rough.  It 's  his  way  with  beginners." 

Punctually  on  the  hour,  the  ten  chorus  recruits  pre 
sented  themselves  before  the  stage  manager,  who, 
having  ordered  them  to  form  in  a  single  line  facing  the 
footlights,  took  his  position  immediately  in  front  of 
them.  They  were  in  truth  a  singular  exhibit.  Thus  far 
no  lack  of  confidence  was  manifested.  In  place  ,of  stage 
fright  an  air  of  bravado  was  here  and  there  observable. 
This  was  especially  true  of  the  amorous  landlords  from 
Branton  and  Mighton,  both  of  whom  assumed  heroic 
attitudes  for  the  edification  of  the  fair  objects  of  their 
devotion  who  were  watching  from  the  wings. 

Pearson,  of  Wansea,  six  feet  and  four  inches  tall, 
made  a  brave  effort  to  strike  a  position  denoting  utter 
unconcern.  As  a  result,  he  struck  several  positions 
simultaneously.  Commencing  with  his  long,  toeing-in 
feet,  he  displayed  a  series  of  grotesque  angles  culmi 
nating  in  an  awkward  junction  of  his  bullet  head 
and  cartridge  neck.  The  whole  posture  or  combination 
of  postures  suggested  the  snapshot  of  a  man  while  in 
the  act  of  making  a  wild  leap  in  several  directions  at 
once. 

[78] 


THE   SINGING   LANDLORDS 

Evans  of  Miverton,  his  thumbs  in  the  arm  holes  of 
his  straw-colored  vest,  pursed  his  lips,  held  his  chin 
high  in  air,  and  squinted  superciliously  at  the  stage 
manager  through  a  pair  of  brassy  spectacles  perched 
on  the  extreme  end  of  his  razor-edged  New  England 
nose. 

Jones  of  Sassonet  and  Jennings  of  Comerset  were 
disposed  to  treat  the  whole  affair  as  a  joke  when  they 
took  their  places  side  by  side.  Jones  winked  his  right 
eye  at  Jennings,  who  reciprocated  with  his  left.  This 
inspired  Jones,  who  was  stationed  at  the  head  of  the 
line,  to  add  further  drollery  to  the  occasion  by  nudging 
Jennings  in  the  ribs  with  his  elbow.  Jennings  returned 
the  nudge  with  emphasis';  in  an  expanding  spirit  of 
playfulness,  he  pressed  his  other  elbow  against  Evans, 
who  stood  at  his  left.  Evans  passed  the  nudge  to 
Pearson  and  it  was  thus  transmitted  down  the  entire 
line. 

All  the  landlords,  successively  moved  by  the  gaiety 
of  the  situation,  grinned  first  at  each  other  and  next  at 
the  stage  manager,  expecting  that  he  too  would  join  in 
their  waggish  humor. 

Up  to  this  time  the  stage  manager  had  not  uttered 
a  sound.  With  hands  deep  in  his  trousers'  pockets, 
hat  pulled  low  on  his  forehead,  and  face  wearing  the 
proverbial  sphinx-like  impenetrability,  Lasker  gazed 
steadily  at  the  grinning  row  in  front  of  him  and  — 
cleared  his  throat.  That  was  all.  He  spoke  no  word 

[81] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

and  made  no  gesture  of  disapproval.  He  simply 
cleared  his  throat  and  the  landlords  ceased  their  grin 
ning.  He  cleared  his  throat  again,  louder  and  more 
significantly  than  before.  The  chorus  recruits  looked 
sheepishly  at  each  other  and  wondered  why  they  felt 
so  strangely  uncomfortable.  They  were  ten  against  one. 
The  little  man  standing  before  them  was  not  uttering 
admonitions,  but  they  knew  instinctively  he  was  warn 
ing  them  with  his  freezing  glance  that  the  time  for  levity 
had  passed,  and  they  mutely  acknowledged  him  as  their 
master. 

Having  effectually  tamed  the  frisky  hotel  men, 
Lasker,  without  moving  from  his  position,  proceeded 
to  make  a  critical  head-to-foot  survey  of  them  individ 
ually.  At  the  outset  of  his  examination,  the  stage  man. 
ager's  expression  betokened  mild  curiosity.  This  was 
succeeded  by  grave  dissatisfaction.  As  the  investiga 
tion  continued,  a  look  of  deep  despair  settled  on  his 
countenance,  and  when  he  finished  his  inspection  of 
the  last  landlord,  he  threw  up  his  hands,  walked  has 
tily  to  Truetell,  who  was  standing  near  the  "  prompt" 
entrance,  and  gasped: 

"  Say,  governor,  is  this  on  the  level  ?  " 

"Straight  goods,"  answered  Bill. 

"  Those  guys  for  the  chorus  ?  " 

"Sure  thing." 

"  And  you  ask  me  to  teach  them  to  act  and  sing  ?  " 

"You   can   teach   anybody  anything,"   was   Bill's 

[82] 


THE   SINGING   LANDLORDS 

flattering  rejoinder.  "  You  once  told  me  you  were  the 
original  seal  trainer." 

"  Well,  back  to  the  seals  for  mine,  if  you  insist  on  me 
tackling  that  bunch.  I  '11  resign  right  now." 

Lasker  pulled  his  hat  still  lower  on  his  forehead, 
shoved  his  hands  deeper  in  his  trousers'  pockets,  and 
started  for  the  stage  door. 

Bill  followed  in  alarm. 

"Hold  on,  old  man,"  he  expostulated.  "Don't 
quit.  Don't  throw  me  down." 

Lasker  paused.  His  hand  was  on  the  latch  of  the 
door. 

"  Come  back ! "  entreated  the  manager.  "  Try  them 
once.  They  may  not  be  as  bad  as  they  look." 

"If  they  're  as  bad  as  they  look,"  solemnly  declared 
the  director  of  the  stage,  "  there  '11  be  a  riot  in  the  house 
the  first  night  they  appear.  Just  look  at  them!" 

The  new  members  of  the  male  chorus  had  not 
changed  their  attitudes  since  they  became  victims  of 
the  hypnotic  spell  cast  over  them  by  the  stage  manager. 
They  stood  transfixed,  with  mouths  wide  open,  staring 
blankly  straight  ahead  at  the  empty  auditorium. 

"  There  's  a  nice  collection  of  idiots  to  hand  to  an 
intelligent  audience,"  said  Lasker,  waving  his  hand 
contemptuously  in  the  direction  of  the  lugubrious  line 
of  bonifaces. 

"They  certainly  don't  look  very  promising,"  Bill 
admitted. 

[83] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

"Promising!  Why,  training  seals  would  be  mere 
summer  pastime  compared  with  coaching  those  Rubes. 
I  don't  want  to  throw  you  down,  Mr.  Truetell,"  Lasker 
continued  in  a  relenting  tone.  "  I  '11  make  the  attempt, 
but  it 's  the  toughest  proposition  I  ever  went  against, 
and  I  've  been  thirty-five  years  in  the  show  business." 

He  reluctantly  resumed  his  position  before  the  land 
lords,  who  viewed  his  return  with  that  dumb,  appeal 
ing  expression  noticeable  in  animals  waiting  for  the 
butcher's  knife. 

"  Perhaps  I  'm  too  near  for  a  proper  effect,"  was  his 
comment.  "  Stand  just  as  you  are  while  I  go  in  front.'' 

He  climbed  over  the  footlights  to  the  orchestra  and 
walked  backwards  until  he  was  half-way  up  the  centre 
aisle. 

"  It  's  just  as  tough  out  here.  Now  attention ! "  he 
shouted,  "  and  I  '11  see  what  I  can  do.  First  and  fore 
most  I  want  you  all  to  try  to  look  like  human  beings." 

The  effort  resulted  in  such  a  series  of  silly,  sickly 
expressions  that  Lasker  yelled  out, 

"  You  're  worse  than  before.  Don't  ever  try  to 
look  human  again.  Now  I  want  to  hear  your  voices. 
You  all  know '  My  Country, '  T  is  of  Thee/  don't  you  ?  " 

Several  of  the  landlords  nodded  a  timid  acquiescence. 

"Sing  it,"  commanded  Lasker. 

An  unearthly  babel  of  discordant  noises  immediately 
issued  from  the  throats  of  the  landlord  chorus,  and  again 
Lasker  raised  his  hands  in  despair. 

[84] 


THE   SINGING   LANDLORDS 

"  Stop !  Stop ! "  he  cried  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  The 
order  was  drowned  in  the  noisy  din  without  producing 
any  effect. 

The  stage  manager  rushed  down  the  aisle  toward 
the  stage  waving  his  arms  frantically.  The  landlords 
assuming  his  gestures  indicated  that  greater  effort  on 
their  part  was  needed,  roared  all  the  louder,  and  per 
sisted  in  their  awful  rendition  of  the  glorious  national 
anthem  in  various  keys  and  divers  tunes  until  they 
brought  it  to  an  inglorious  finish. 

Meanwhile  Lasker  had  thrown  himself  despond 
ently  on  an  orchestra  chair.  Bill  went  to  him  with 
this  suggestion,  "  Why  don't  you  try  them  singly  ?  " 

"  Singly  or  collectively,  they  're  the  limit,"  said  the 
ex-seal  trainer,  glaring  at  the  landlords,  who  now,  hav 
ing  regained  their  confidence,  were  standing  in  expect 
ant  attitudes  waiting  to  be  complimented  on  their 
singing. 

Several  minutes  later,  when  the  stage  manager 
mustered  courage  for  another  attempt,  he  followed 
Bill's  advice  and  commenced  an  individual  examina 
tion,  using  the  simple  scale  as  the  test. 

The  investigation  showed  that  with  a  goodly  stretch 
of  the  imagination,  six  of  the  voices  might  be  classified 
as  tenors.  The  remainder  would  admit  of  no  classi 
fication  whatever.  Their  owners,  who  gave  vent  to 
weird  sounds  suggestive  of  the  creaking  of  unoiled 
machinery,  were  peremptorily  ordered  by  Lasker  to 

[85] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

make  facial  motions  imitative  of  singing  while  per 
formances  were  in  progress  but  under  no  circumstances 
to  yield  to  a  temptation  to  join  in  the  vocal  part  of  the 
entertainment. 

When  the  rehearsal  was  over  Lasker  said  to  Bill : 
"I  may  manage  to  pull  them  through  somehow 
without  police  interference.    We  're  badly  handicapped, 
though,  with  six  tenors,  bad  ones  at  that,  and  not  a  bass 
voice  in  the  show." 

"  Don't  worry,"  replied  the  inventive  Truetell,  who 
straightway  called  a  messenger  boy  and  sent  the  follow 
ing  remarkable  telegram  to  his  advance  agent: 

Hereafter  book  company  in  hotels  where  landlords 
sing  bass.  We  have  tenors  to  burn. 

TRUETELL. 


[86] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

DEBUT  OF  THE  NEW  MALE  CHORUS 

THE  first  professional  appearance  of  the  meta 
morphosed  landlords  occurred  in  Roscoe,  a 
small  town  in  the  northern  part  of  Massachu 
setts,  bordering  on  the  New  Hampshire  line.  No 
announcement  of  their  intended  debut  had  appeared 
in  the  local  semi-weekly  newspaper.  Ordinarily  Bill's 
advertising  policy  was  to  give  as  wide  publicity  as 
possible  to  anything  out  of  the  common  that  happened 
in  connection  with  his  attraction.  The  appearance 
of  ten  genuine  hotel  keepers  as  a  singing  and  dancing 
chorus  was  a  novelty  that  probably  never  before  had 
been  presented  in  the  history  of  the  show  business. 
Bill's  instinct  as  a  showman  taught  him  that  the 
publication  in  advance  of  the  news  of  this  important 
happening  was  calculated,  by  its  very  nature,  to  stimu 
late  public  curiosity,  and  increase  the  Roscoe  box-office 
receipts.  He  gave  the  matter  much  consideration,  and 

[87] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

to  assist  his  mind  in  forming  a  judgment,  he  drew  up 
the  following  advertisement: 


Lucky  Roscoe! 

Selected  for  the  Premier  of  the  Season's 
Great   Event. 

Real  Landlords  in  the  Chorus 


OF 

99 


'The  Gay  Gothamites.' 

10-BONA   FIDE    BONIFACES- 10 

COUNT  THEM  ! 

They  Left  Their  Happy  Hotels  to 
Go  upon  the  Stage. 

Secure  Seats  Early.  No  Advance  in  Regular  Prices. 


The  seductiveness  of  this  announcement  was  not 
lost  even  upon  the  modest  mind  of  its  author.     He 

[88] 


THE   NEW   MALE  CHORUS 

smiled  with  satisfaction  when  he  had  written  the  last 
word  and  read  the  copy  through  twice.  With  each 
reading  his  smile  broadened. 

"  I  '11  run  the  advertisement,"  was  his  first  decision. 
"  It  '11  be  sure  to  pack  the  house,  and  I  need  the  money." 

To  make  assurance  trebly  sure,  he  commenced  a 
third  examination  of  the  proclamation  and  read  the 
first  line. 

"LUCKY  ROSCOE!" 

Here  he  halted.  Doubt  tinctured  his  enthusiasm. 
Was  Roscoe  really  lucky,  in  the  circumstances  ?  Would 
the  Roscoeites  consider  themselves  especially  favored 
by  fortune  while  observing  the  debut  of  the  landlord 
aggregation  ?  Bill  remembered  the  warning  of  Lasker, 
who  at  the  first  rehearsal  predicted  a  riot  when  they 
made  their  public  appearance.  Subsequent  rehear 
sals  had  not  developed  any  latent  histrionic  or  oper 
atic  talent.  If  the  spectators  at  Roscoe  evinced  any 
anger  at  the  raw  quality  of  the  male  chorus  material, 
would  not  their  rage  be  increased  by  the  recollection 
of  the  flamboyant  advertisement  ? 

At  this  stage  of  his  reflection  the  doubt  merged 
into  fear,  and  Bill  tore  the  announcement  into  little 
bits,  saying  meanwhile  to  himself: 

"  If  I  can  only  get  by  with  them  I  ought  to  be  sat 
isfied." 

His  final  decision  was  also  affected  by  the  recol 
lection  of  Joe  Stewart,  the  local  manager  at  Roscoe, 

[89] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

who  enjoyed  a  reputation  for  pessimism  unsurpassed 
on  the  Massachusetts  circuit.  Stewart  had  been 
known  to  ring  down  his  curtain  on  shows  which  he 
considered  below  the  Roscoe  standard. 

"  What  will  he  do  when  he  sees  this  string  to-night  ?  " 
Bill  asked  himself  the  morning  before  the  Roscoe 
performance.  In  the  afternoon  his  worry  on  the 
subject  perceptibly  increased.  At  the  theatre  in  the 
evening,  as  the  momentous  time  for  the  appearance 
of  the  landlords  approached,  his  extreme  nervousness 
led  him  to  shut  himself  in  the  manager's  office,  which 
was  connected  with  the  rear  of  the  auditorium,  and 
listen  apprehensively  at  the  keyhole.  He  actually 
lacked  the  courage  to  be  a  witness  of  the  entrance  of 
the  landlords  and  the  riot  in  the  audience  which,  he 
was  now  convinced,  was  sure  to  follow. 

Bill  looked  at  his  big  open-face  silver  watch. 

"  They  're  due.  They  must  be  on,"  he  muttered 
in  agitation,  pressing  his  ear  closer  to  the  keyhole. 
There  was  a  death-like  silence,  followed  by  shrieks 
from  the  audience. 

"  It 's  all  off, "  quaked  Bill.  "  I  felt  it  in  my  bones. 
Stewart  '11  close  us  up  sure." 

Soon  afterward,  the  local  manager,  laughing  bois 
terously,  entered  the  office  and  slapped  its  gloomy 
occupant  on  the  back. 

"  You  're  a  wonder,  Truetell ! "  he  cried.     "  Where 

[90] 


THE  NEW  MALE   CHORUS 


did  you  get  the  male  chorus  ?     They  're  the  funniest 
lot  I  ever  saw.     Eveiy  man  is  a  born  comedian." 


"  *  THEY  MUST  BE  ON,'  HE  MUTTERED  IN  AGITATION,  PRESSING  HIS 
EAR  CLOSER  TO  THE  KEYHOLE" 


"Thank    you,"     replied     Bill,     astounded.     "Do 
you  —  do  you  think  the  audience  likes  them  ?  " 

"  Likes    them  ?     They  're    having    fits    in    front. 

[91] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

You  've  only  got  to  look  at  that  bunch  to  contract  a 
spasm." 

"  What  did  you  think  of  their  voices  ?  " 

"Didn't  pay  the  slightest  attention  to  them," 
replied  Stewart.  "Nobody  expects  real  singing  in  a 
musical  comedy.  But  you  Ve  got  a  fortune  in  that 
male  chorus." 

Bill  thought  of  the  various  hotel  accounts  they  rep 
resented  and  said,  "  Do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"Sure  thing.  They  are  without  doubt  the  most 
natural  set  of  comics  I  've  ever  seen.  Don't  lose 
them,  Truetell." 

"It  won't  be  my  fault  if  they  get  away,"  said  the 
relieved  travelling  manager. 


[92] 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  MECCA  OF  VERMONT 

THE  instantaneous  hit  inadvertently  scored  by 
the  new  male  chorus  that  evening  induced  a 
happy  frame  of  mind  in  both  the  travelling  man 
ager  and  Roscoe's  impressario  when  they  sat  down 
to  count  up  the  house,  but  with  the  performance  of 
the  task  their  happiness  faded  away.  Stewart  un 
locked  the  tin  ticket  receptacle,  and  Bill  obligingly 
turned  it  bottom  side  up  to  dump  its  contents  on  the 
table.  When  he  lifted  it,  a  miniature  stack  of  tickets, 
scarcely  a  handful,  was  pathetically  disclosed  between 
the  two  men.  Bill  pounded  and  shook  the  box.  One 
solitary  piece  of  pasteboard  fluttered  from  the  inte 
rior  and  joined  the  pitiful  little  pile  on  the  table. 

Stewart,  noting  the  air  of  extreme  disappointment 
settling  on  Bill's  face  said,  "  Guess  you  've  been  hav 
ing  some  pretty  hard  knocks  lately." 

"I  am  the  original  chopping-block, "  was  the 
mournful  reply. 

Never  at  any  stage  of  his  unsuccessful  career  was 
fate  more  cruel  to  him  than  at  the  present.  The  tide 
of  box-office  receipts  had  persisted  at  such  an  extreme- 

[93] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

ly  low  ebb  that  the  danger  of  stranding  was  never 
absent,  and  the  unvarying  bad  business  caused  an  un 
ceasing  shower  of  troubles  to  fall  on  Bill's  unfortu 
nate  head.  Hotel  bills  he  was  able  to  manipulate  in 
many  instances  through  his  cleverness  in  persuading 
landlords  to  link  their  fortunes  with  the  troupe,  but 
other  creditors  were  not  susceptible  to  this  influence. 
Reminders  on  account  of  debts  to  printers,  scene- 
painters,  costume-makers,  and  other  obligations  har 
assed  him  from  all  directions.  The  reminders  were 
succeeded  by  peremptory  demands,  and  these,  in  turn, 
were  followed  by  legal  processes.  Sheriffs  began  to 
camp  on  the  trail  of  the  show. 

After  Roscoe  the  route  led  "  The  Gay  Gothamites" 
into  New  Hampshire,  where  the  welcome  extended 
the  hardy  band  of  stage  adventurers  was  no  warmer 
than  in  her  sister  States  of  New  England.  On  entering 
the  New  Hampshire  field,  however,  Bill  succeeded  in 
completing  an  arrangement  which  once  more  aroused 
hope  in  his  desponding  heart. 

He  obtained  a  guarantee  for  a  booking  in  Farry, 
Vermont.  A  lodge  of  Elks  having  secured  the  date 
for  a  benefit,  its  members  sold  tickets  enough  at  ad 
vanced  prices  to  fill  the  house,  and  offered  Bill  through 
the  local  manager  of  Farry  four  hundred  dollars  for 
his  share,  to  be  paid  the  evening  of  the  performance. 
There  was  no  hesitation  on  Bill's  part  nor  haggling 
over  the  size  of  the  guarantee.  His  telegraphed  reply 

[94] 


THE   MECCA   OF   VERMONT 

contained  only  one  word,  "Accepted."  Having  sent 
the  message  he  experienced  a  sense  of  the  keenest  ex 
hilaration.  Four  hundred  dollars,  in  real  money, 
and  Farry  only  two  weeks  distant!  At  last  the  tide 
had  turned  and  Fate  was  smiling  on  him.  What 
would  he  do  with  this  windfall?  He  made  a  rapid 
mental  disposition  of  the  amount  and  unselfishly  par 
celled  it  out  among  his  creditors,  commencing  with 
the  members  of  his  company,  and  retaining  not  a  dol 
lar  for  himself. 

During  the  next  week  the  organization  struggled 
along,  barely  managing  to  move  from  one  place  to 
another.  The  situation  was  fast  becoming  critical. 
On  all  sides  Bill  was  importuned  for  money.  When 
actors  clamored  for  salaries  long  overdue,  he  invoked 
the  magic  name  of  Farry  and  calmed  their  anxiety. 
He  would  show  his  appreciation  of  their  loyalty  sub 
stantially  when  they  reached  Farry.  The  pressing 
demands  of  other  creditors  he  met  in  a  similar 
manner. 

The  seven  days  preceding  Farry  comprised  Holy 
Week,  admittedly  the  worst  period  from  a  business 
point  of  view  in  the  whole  theatrical  calendar.  It 
is  the  general  custom  of  companies  to  lay  off  during 
Holy  Week,  but,  hard  as  the  progress  promised  to  be, 
Bill  could  not  stop.  If  he  did  not  continue  moving 
all  was  lost.  To  halt  the  company  for  more  than  a 
day  would  be  to  lose  all  the  vitality  necessary  to  keep 

[95] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

it  in  motion,  and  Farry  with  its  golden  guarantee 
would  never  be  reached. 

Holy  Week  started  with  a  box-office  showing  so 
minute  as  to  be  almost  indistinguishable.  As  the 
battered  bark  of  "The  Gay  Gothamites"  floundered 
through  the  stormy  waters  the  pilot  began  to  lose 
courage,  but  he  took  heart  again  as  he  saw  the 
bright  beacon-light  of  Farry  shining  clearly  across  the 
troubled  sea. 

"We  must  reach  Farry.  We  must,  we  must,"  he 
repeated  to  himself,  each  time  with  renewed  energy. 

To  gain  this  Vermont  Mecca  he  brought  into  play 
all  his  powers  of  manipulation  and  scheming  in  the 
face  of  apparently  insurmountable  obstacles,  but  the 
prospect  was  discouraging. 

While  reaching  out  for  every  possible  resource,  he 
sent  a  message  to  the  local  manager  at  Farry,  begging 
him  to  advance  part  of  the  guarantee.  In  response 
came  the  following: 

Not  a  cent  till  after  the  second  act.  If  you  can't 
play  the  benefit  I  'II  get  a  show  that  can. 

COLSTON. 

"  He  means  it,  too,"  Bill  was  forced  to  admit,  tear 
ing  the  yellow  paper  into  bits. 

No  less  than  four  landlords,  all  bassos,  joined 
"  The  Gay  Gothamites  "  during  Holy  Week,  being  in 
duced  to  go  along  with  the  promise  of  paid-up  bills  in 
Farry. 

[96] 


THE   MECCA  OF  VERMONT 

After  five  days  of  heroic  endeavor  Bill  landed  his 
company  on  Saturday  in  Hortonville,  Vermont,  the 
town  immediately  preceding  Farry,  booked  for  the 
following  Monday.  With  the  end  of  the  continuous 
strain  almost  within  sight,  everybody  in  the  organi 
zation  revived  in  spirits.  The  long-awaited  salaries 
would  be  paid  on  Monday!  This  blissful  prospect 
acted  as  a  tonic  to  the  long-suffering  players,  and  the 
snappiest  performance  of  the  season  was  given  in  Hor 
tonville. 

Bill,  in  the  front  of  the  house,  was  in  a  gleeful  mood. 
He  recounted  his  experiences  to  the  Hortonville  man 
ager,  and  received  from  him  hearty  congratulations 
on  his  success  in  warding  off  the  disasters  that  had 
threatened  him. 

The  two  theatrical  men  continued  their  pleasant 
discourse  at  a  neighboring  bar  until  half  an  hour  after 
the  performance,  when  Bill  excused  himself  with,  "I 
must  see  that  the  transfer  people  take  my  stuff  out 
all  right." 

Arriving  at  the  end  of  the  dark  alley  that  led  to 
the  stage  door,  Bill  saw  an  empty  transfer  wagon  backed 
up  to  the  entrance. 

"Hi,  there,"  Bill  shouted  to  the  stage  hands,  "why 
don't  you  get  my  stuff  out  ?  " 

Somebody  yelled  in  reply,  "  Your  stuff  is  pinched." 

Bill  took  a  couple  of  flying  leaps  up  the  steps  and 
through  the  doorway.  In  the  centre  of  the  stage  he 

[97] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

beheld  his  scenery  and  baggage  stacked  in  the  shape 
of  a  mound,  on  the  top  of  which  two  men  were  con 
tentedly  seated. 


"  His  BAGGAGE  AND  SCENERY  STACKED  IN  THE  SHAPE  OF  A  MOUND  " 

"What  are  you  doing  on  my  stuff?"  Bill  cried  in 
anger. 

"Be  you  the  owner?"  asked  one  of  them,  as  both 

[98] 


THE   MECCA   OF  VERMONT 

took  out  of  their  pockets  ominous-looking  documents 
and  handed  them  to  Truetell. 

"Sheriffs,  eh?"  grunted  Bill. 

"  That 's  what,"  the  official  spokesman  admitted. 

"  And  what  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  "  demanded  the 
manager. 

"We  propose  to  'tach  this  yere  property." 

Both  sheriffs,  apparently  acting  under  the  belief 
that  in  order  to  attach  goods  legally  they  must  attach 
themselves  to  them  physically,  arose  from  their  sitting 
positions  and  sat  down  again  so  hard  that  the  scenery 
cracked  under  them. 

Bill  examined  the  writs.  They  were  for  balances 
due  a  scenic  artist  and  a  costumer,  amounting  to  a 
hundred  and  forty  dollars. 

"  Come  down  here  and  we  '11  talk  this  thing  over," 
suggested  Bill. 

The  officials,  fearing  lest  their  attachments  would 
be  dissolved  by  a  relinquishment  of  physical  contact, 
replied  in  unison,  "Not  by  a  derned  sight." 

"Very  well,  I  '11  join  you  up  there." 

Bill  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  pile,  sat  between  the 
rural  officers  of  the  law,  and  commenced  with  all  his 
persuasiveness  to  take  them  out  of  their  official  shells 
and  into  his  confidence.  He  eloquently  rehearsed  his 
troubles  of  the  past  week,  showed  his  contract  for  the 
engagement  in  Farry,  explained  the  guarantee  awaiting 
him  there,  pointed  out  the  necessity  of  scenery  to  give 

[99] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

the  show,  and  finally  promised  to  pay  the  sheriffs  in 
Farry  as  soon  as  the  money  was  handed  him. 

After  much  argument  Bill's  earnestness  prevailed. 
The  sheriffs  agreed  to  the  moving  of  the  production 
to  Farry,  but  insisted  that  they  must  stick  to  it  as  closely 
as  possible  on  the  journey  and  in  the  Farry  theatre 
until  the  settlement  was  effected. 

Half  an  hour  afterward,  the  transfer  wagon,  loaded 
high  with  the  belongings  of  "The  Gay  Gothamites," 
and  carrying  the  two  sheriffs  perched  on  the  top  of  the 
paraphernalia,  rattled  its  way  down  the  dark  alley  and 
up  the  main  street  to  the  Hortonville  station.  A  late 
freight  train  bore  the  outfit  to  Farry. 

"There  goes  the  last  of  my  troubles,"  said  Bill  with 
a  long  sigh  of  relief,  as  he  heard  the  whistle  of  the 
departing  train  just  before  he  went  to  bed.  He  had 
money  enough  out  of  his  share  of  the  receipts  that  even 
ing  to  pay  for  the  hotel  accommodations  in  Hortonville 
and  his  railroad  tickets.  Nothing  now  stood  between 
him  and  the  well-earned  reward  that  awaited  him  in 
Farry. 

"The  tougher  the  fight  the  greater  the  satisfaction 
in  winning,"  thought  Bill,  and  his  sleep  that  night  was 
as  peaceful  as  a  babe's. 

The  company  and  its  manager  left  for  Farry  the 
next  afternoon,  arriving  at  early  twilight.  With  youth 
ful  elasticity  Bill  jumped  to  the  station  platform.  An 
ancient  yellow  omnibus  with  a  pair  of  sleeping,  drab- 

[100] 


THE   MECCA   OF   VERMONT 

colored  horses  were  waiting  for  passengers.  Bill  gen 
erously  insisted  on  all  of  the  company  taking  a  ride  to 
the  hotel  at  his  expense,  gallantly  helping  the  ladies  to 
seats  —  and  incidentally  squeezing  the  hand  of  the 
little  Van  Balken  and  receiving  a  reciprocal  pressure  as 
he  assisted  her  up  the  shaky  steps.  When  the  vehicle 
would  admit  of  no  more  occupants  the  manager  oblig 
ingly  took  a  seat  beside  the  driver,  a  taciturn  old  rustic, 
who,  by  applying  a  vigorous  whip  to  his  horses,  induced 
them  to  forego  their  quiet  Sunday  afternoon  nap  and 
drag  the  clumsy  conveyance  away  from  the  station. 

Bill  made  no  attempt  to  enter  into  conversation  with 
the  driver  when  the  journey  to  the  hotel  started.  His 
own  happy  thoughts  occupied  his  exclusive  attention 
and  gladness  filled  his  soul. 

At  last  he  was  in  Farry !  Here  a  new  lease  of  activity 
would  be  extended  to  him.  Farry  would  be  the  oasis 
in  his  life's  desert,  refreshing  him  for  further  struggles. 
He  would  always  remember  Farry  —  and  what  a  beauti 
ful  memory  it  would  be !  Bill  gazed  admiringly  at  the 
gentle  slopes  of  the  hills,  the  smiling  green  fields,  and 
the  trees  with  their  glorious  autumnal  tints.  He  filled 
his  lungs  with  the  cool  air  laden  with  scent  of  the  pines, 
and  the  whole  effect  was  so  exhilarating  he  could  main 
tain  silence  no  longer. 

"Ah,  my  man,"  said  Bill,  turning  to  the  driver, 
"this  is  the  real  joy  of  life!  To  be  free  from  all  cares 
and  live  next  to  nature,  close  to  God's  soil ! " 

[  101  ] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

To  these  exuberant  remarks  no  response  was 
vouchsafed  by  the  Farryite. 

The  early  twilight  deepened.  In  the  west  a  bright 
glow  overspread  the  sky,  inspiring  Bill  to  further 
rhapsody. 

"  Ah !  That  radiant  sunset ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  That 
wonderful  —  " 

"Ye  V  mistaken  about  the  sunset,  mister,"  broke 
in  the  driver.  "  That  there  light 's  the  op'ry  house 
burnin'  down.  Been  on  fire  nigh  onto  two  hours." 


[102] 


CHAPTER  X 

A  "LEGITIMATE"  STAR 

ON  the  Wednesday  morning  following,  Bill  stood 
once  more  before  the  discolored  mirror  in  his 
hall-bedroom    in    New    York.      His     hands 
trembled    as  he  adjusted    the    familiar    necktie,   and 
his  lower  lip  quivered  with  nervous  tremor.      There 
was  a  new  furrow  on  his  forehead,  an  indelible  record 
of  "The  Gay  Gothamites'  "  tribulations,  which  had 
culminated  in  the  entire  destruction  of  the  production 
at  Farry,  not  to  mention  the  loss  of  the  guarantee  for 
which  Bill  had  fought  so  long  and  desperately. 

Though  the  catastrophe  sounded  the  death-knell  to 
the  enterprise,  it  had  failed  to  destroy  Bill's  courage. 
While  the  ruins  of  the  "Op'ry"  House  were  still 
smoking  on  that  memorable  Sunday  evening  he  set 
energetically  to  work  organizing  a  benefit  to  be  held  in 
the  Town  Hall  the  next  night.  The  Farryites  made  a 
generous  response,  and  the  proceeds  were  sufficient  to 
purchase  railroad  tickets  to  New  York  for  the  entire 
organization  except  the  landlords,  who  were  permitted 
to  return  to  their  respective  hostelries  at  their  own 
expense,  richer  through  their  alliance  wjth  the  company 
in  stage  experience,  if  not  in  money. 

[103] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

Bill  maintained  a  semblance  of  nerve  until  after 
he  had  bidden  good-bye  to  his  followers  on  the  Tuesday 
night  their  train  arrived  at  the  Grand  Central  sta 
tion  in  the  metropolis.  Then  he  hurried  to  his 
lodging-house  in  a  state  of  mental  depression  which 
he  felt  could  only  be  relieved  by  sleep  —  and  sleep  had 
not  visited  him  for  forty-eight  hours.  But  his  troubles 
did  not  end  with  slumber,  for  he  straightway  fell  to 
dreaming.  He  was  on  a  raft  on  a  stormy  sea  with  the 
little  Van  Balken.  Surrounding  them  in  the  black 
water  were  swarms  of  hideous  things  having  the  faces 
of  men  with  the  bodies  of  sharks,  and  wearing  huge 
fiery  sheriffs'  badges  on  their  scaly  breasts.  They 
were  struggling  to  get  aboard,  led  by  two  monsters  in 
whose  countenances  Bill  recognized  the  pair  of  Horton- 
ville  sheriffs  who,  he  remembered,  had  vindictively 
believed  to  the  last  that  the  fire  in  Farry  was  started 
by  his  orders  to  deprive  them  of  their  attachable  prop 
erty.  Bill's  left  arm  encircled  the  waist  of  the  girl, 
while  with  his  disengaged  hand  he  beat  the  demons 
of  the  deep  back  into  the  sea  as  they  returned  again 
and  again  to  the  attack.  The  terrible  conflict  lasted 
all  night. 

Bill  awoke  in  a  shattered  condition  mentally  and 
physically.  While  he  was  dressing,  even  the  ordinary 
street  noises  startled  him.  A  door-bell  tinkled  faintly 
three  flights  below.  It  jangled  loudly  on  his  over 
wrought  nerves,  and  he  shuddered  convulsively,  fearing 

[  104] 


A     'LEGITIMATE'     STAR 

lest  one  of  his  innumerable  creditors  was  hot  on 
his  track.  He  did  not  pause  long  before  his  mirror 
in  the  arrangement  of  his  necktie.  The  careworn 
face  reflected  there,  with  its  hunted  expression  and 
dark-rimmed,  bloodshot  eyes,  increased  his  alarm; 
his  fevered  imagination  conjured  up  a  myriad  of 
terrors.  He  sat  down,  pressed  his  hands  to  his  burning 
temples,  and  tried  to  think  connectedly.  What  was 
he  to  do?  If  he  remained  in  the  house  his  pursuers 
would  be  sure  to  find  him.  If  he  went  out  in  the  day 
light  he  could  not  escape  their  notice.  What  was  he 
to  do? 

"  It 's  Bloomingdale  for  mine,  if  I  don't  get  out  of 
this  room,"  was  his  final  conclusion. 

Leaving  the  house,  he  walked  rapidly  to  the 
nearest  elevated  station  and  boarded  a  down-town 
train.  He  alighted  at  the  Battery,  crossed  the  park, 
and  took  a  seat  on  the  extreme  south  side  facing  the 
harbor. 

"They  '11  never  look  for  me  here." 

This  consoling  conclusion  was  soon  followed  by  a 
welcome  sensation  of  relief.  A  cool  breeze  from  the 
bay  swept  the  fever  from  his  brain.  He  drank  deeply 
of  the  stimulating  sea  air.  Again  the  blood  tingled 
in  his  veins  and  ambition  tugged  at  his  heart 
strings.  Facing  him,  the  Statue  of  Liberty,  outlined 
fearlessly  against  the  blue  morning  sky,  inspired  Bill 
with  new  hope. 

[105] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

"I  may  be  a  dead  one,"  he  soliloquized,  "but  they 
have  n't  buried  me  yet." 

With  returning  self-confidence  he  commenced  the 
erection  of  an  air-castle  —  which  his  lively  imagina 
tion  rapidly  completed.  It  was  of  wondrous  archi 
tecture,  fronted  with  stately  columns  of  purest  Grecian 
marble,  on  each  of  which  a  "Standing  Room  Only" 
sign  was  suspended.  While  the  crowds  thronged  to 
gain  admittance,  William  Truetell,  the  owner,  hand  in 
hand  with  the  little  Van  Balken,  watched  the  inspiring 
sight.  Apparently  the  palatial  edifice  was  built  to 
withstand  the  shocks  and  storms  of  ages,  but  it  crum 
bled  to  dust  the  instant  Bill  felt  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

The  castle-builder  on  his  bench  in  Battery  Park 
started  in  alarm,  but  did  not  look  around.  Con 
vinced  that  an  officer  had  at  last  come  to  arrest  him 
he  made  a  weak  attempt  to  be  game  and  stammered, 
"All  right.  I'm  ready." 

"Ready  for  what,  Truetell?"  a  deep  voice  asked. 

"Why  it's  Rupert  Steelson!"  cried  Bill,  rising 
and  greeting  him  with  a  hearty  hand-shake;  "and  I 
thought  you  were  a  policeman!" 

"  Do  I  look  like  a  policeman  ?  "  the  possessor  of 
the  deep  voice  queried  with  mock  seriousness. 

Mr.  Steelson  was  of  medium  height  and  middle 
age.  His  face  was  smooth,  sallow,  and  classically 
featured.  He  wore  a  tall,  shabby  silk  hat  and  a  long, 
shabby  ulster,  the  collar  and  cuffs  of  which  were 

[106] 


A     'LEGITIMATE'     STAR 

trimmed  with  a  furry  material  that  had  been  in 
tended  primarily  to  adorn  the  garment,  but  had  long 
ceased  to  carry  out  its  end  of  the  contract.  A  glossy 
black  wig  extended  to  his  shoulders  in  a  succession  of 
waves.  There  could  be  no  mistake  in  guessing  his 
profession:  "one-night  stands"  was  written  over  his 
personality  from  head  to  toe. 

"  And  how  fares  it  with  thee,  my  friend  ?  "  the  actor 
asked,  when  the  two  men  had  seated  themselves. 

"I  don't  want  to  worry  you  with  my  troubles, 
Mr.  Steelson,"  commenced  Bill,  apologetically.  "You 
have  had  your  share  of  them  since  you  began  starring 
in  the  legitimate  and  —  " 

"Ah,  my  friend!"  said  the  actor,  raising  his  hand 
with  a  graceful  stage  gesture  denoting  martyr-like 
submission.  "We  are  born  to  troubles,  and  they 
will  continue  with  us  until  *  our  little  lives  are  rounded 
in  a  sleep.'  Take  cheer  and  drive  away  dull  melan 
choly.  It  becomes  thee  not.  Tell  me  your  latest 
grievance  'gainst  Dame  Fortune." 

"  You  're  all  right,  Mr.  Steelson, "  was  Bill's  grateful 
comment,  and  he  rehearsed  the  rise  and  fall  of  "The 
Gay  Gothamites  "  to  a  sympathetic  listener. 

When  the  narrative  was  concluded  the  star  shook 
his  head  slowly  and  said,  "  Do  you  know  what  is  the 
matter  with  thee,  friend  Truetell  ?  " 

Bill  expressed  a  firm  conviction  that  many  things 
were  the  matter. 

[107] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

"  Only  one,"  declared  the  actor,  decisively.  "  Only 
one.  You  are  in  the  wrong  theatrical  atmosphere. 
Musical  comedy,  pah!  Come  with  me,  Truetell.  I 
need  a  manager.  Together  we  will  emblazon  our 
names  on  the  immortal  pages  of  Shakespeare.  As 
a  distinguished  star  once  said  to  me,  'Let  me  lead 
you  up  the  dark,  steeping  path  to  glory.  There  are 
none  that  can  follow  thee.'" 

Bill  started  to  observe  that  up  to  the  present  time 
the  sheriffs  had  experienced  no  difficulty  in  dogging 
his  footsteps;  but  Mr.  Steelson's  grave  manner  re 
strained  him,  and  he  said  instead, 

"  I  'm  afraid  it  would  n't  do.  Shakespeare  and 
me  don't  trot  in  the  same  class." 

"Nonsense!"  rejoined  the  star.  "Shakespeare  is 
as  broad  as  humanity.  No  man  is  too  small,  no 
man  too  large,  for  him.  He  can  lift  the  lowliest  mor 
tal  to  his  level.  Truetell,"  he  continued.  "I've 
watched  you.  You  have  the  real  artistic  temperament. 
You  —  " 

The  manager  interrupted  him.  "Please  don't, 
Mr.  Steelson.  My  nerves  are  not  quite  right  this 
morning." 

Mr.  Steelson  protested  his  sincerity.  Fate,  he 
contended,  had  brought  them  together,  and  there 
were  a  thousand  reasons  why  they  should  join  forces. 

"  You  '11  excuse  me  if  I  mention  something  before 
we  go  any  further,"  said  Bill.  "Where  is  the  backing 

[108] 


'*  COME  WITH  ME,  TRUETELL.    I  NEED  A  MANAGER 


A    "LEGITIMATE'1    STAR 

for  this  show  coming  from  ?  I  've  got  thirty-five  cents 
in  the  world.  Have  you  any  money,  Mr.  Steelson  ?  " 

Contracting  his  brows  as  though  the  subject  was 
far  beneath  his  dignity,  the  star  mechanically  inserted 
his  fingers  in  the  pocket  of  his  waistcoat,  and  drew 
forth  a  few  small  coins  which  he  spread  on  his  palm. 

"Just  forty-five  cents,"  he  announced.  "But 
what  matters  it  ?  What  care  we  for  backing  while 
we  have  our  health  and  strength  and  the  public  is 
with  us  ?  " 

No  doubt  arose  in  Bill's  mind  on  the  subject  of 
physical  vigor,  but  the  tendency  of  the  public  toward 
the  proposed  attraction  was  an  issue  that  could  only 
be  judged  by  the  public's  inclination  —  or,  rather, 
a  lack  of  it  —  toward  the  star  in  the  past. 

Observing  his  friend's  hesitation,  Mr.  Steelson 
resumed  his  hopeful  prognostications.  "I  feel,"  he 
declared,  "that  my  time  has  arrived.  I  have  never 
failed  to  delight  my  audiences  —  when  they  came. 
My  one  solitary  difficulty  has  been  to  get  them  inside 
the  theatre.  Once  inside,  they  are  mine.  To  get 
them  in  I  require  booming,  and  you,  Truetell,  are 
just  the  man  to  do  it.  Management  is  half  the  battle 
in  this  business.  Be  my  manager,  both  for  our  sakes 
and  for  posterity's." 

The  star  laid  one  hand  on  Bill's  shoulder  and 
extended  the  other  toward  the  Statue  of  Liberty  as 

[m] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

if  to  invoke  its  benediction  on  their  union.  But  the 
solemnity  of  the  appeal  did  not  distract  the  manager 
from  the  practical  side  of  the  case. 

"I  am  not  worrying  about  posterity,"  he  said. 
"What  does  worry  me  is  this:  How  are  we  going 
to  organize  a  legitimate  show  on  a  joint  capital  of 
eighty  cents  ?  " 

"If  I  could  answer  that  question,"  said  the  star, 
"I  should  not  need  a  manager.  Any  man  can 
manipulate  an  attraction  with  plenty  of  money.  In 
this  situation  we  must  rely  on  brains,  your  brains, 
Truetell." 

After  a  few  minutes'  serious  deliberation  Bill 
decided  in  favor  of  the  star's  proposal.  He  reasoned 
philosophically  that  a  new  business  environment 
would  divert  his  mind  from  his  recent  calamity,  and 
that,  whatever  bad  luck  was  in  store  for  him  as  man 
ager  of  the  Rupert  Steelson  company,  he  could  not  pos 
sibly  be  in  a  worse  plight  than  at  present. 

His  decision  was  applauded  by  the  actor. 

"  Now  what  about  terms  ?  "  asked  Bill. 

"Terms?"   echoed  Mr.   Steelson. 

"Yes,  how  are  we  to  share  the  profits?" 

"Profits  ?  "  The  amazed  tone  of  the  star's  voice  in 
repeating  the  word  indicated  its  long  absence  from 
his  vocabulary.  "Ah  yes,  profits.  What  do  you 
suggest,  Truetell  ?  " 

[112] 


A    "LEGITIMATE'     STAR 

"I  suggest  an  even  split  of  profits  and  fifty  dollars 
a  week  to  each  of  us  for  expenses  —  if  the  money 
comes  in." 

"Agreed,"  said  the  star;  "if  the  money  comes  in." 
The  two  men  shook  hands  and  left  Battery  Park 
arm-in-arm,  bound  for  the  Rialto. 


[113] 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  GIRL  BECOMES  SACRED 

BOOKING  of  the  Steelson  tour,  organizing    the 
Steelson  company,   and  rehearsing  the  Steel- 
son  repertoire,  occupied  four  weeks.      The  list 
of  plays  included  "Hamlet,"  "King  Lear,"  "Richard 
HI,"     "Othello,"    and    "She    Stoops    to    Conquer," 
familiarly   called   by  the   actors   by   the    abbreviated 
title  of  "She  Stoops." 

In  connection  with  this  last  play  the  star  instructed 
the  manager  to  insert  the  following  in  all  the  adver 
tisements  : 


Rupert  Steelson 's  Own  Version 


SHE  STOOPS  TO  CONQUER 


BY 

OLIVER  GOLDSMITH 


The  type  in  his  name  he  insisted  must  always  be 
at  least  double  the  size  of  Goldsmith's,  who  could  only 

[114] 


A  GIRL   BECOMES   SACRED 

lay  claim  to  the  doubtful  credit  of  being  the  original 
author. 

"  You  see,"  he  explained,  "  I  had  to  put  in  a  new 
last  act  and  bring  the  whole  thing  up  to  date.  It 
would  never  do  for  a  minute  as  Goldsmith  wrote  it." 

Bill  gazed  in  wonder  at  the  modern  stage  genius. 

"  How  about  the  Shakespearian  plays  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  Did  they  require  any  altering  ?  " 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  the  star.  "Now  we  are  tread 
ing  on  holy  ground.  Shakespeare  must  be  inviolate. 
I  should  be  a  vandal  indeed  if  I  disturbed  a  line  or 
even  a  word." 

"A  vandal  is  a  kind  of  play-pirate,  I  suppose," 
said  Bill. 

"Yea,  very  like,"  rejoined  Mr.  Steelson. 

For  the  transaction  of  business  appertaining  to 
the  tour,  desk  room  was  engaged  on  the  top  floor  of 
a  theatrical  office  building  on  Broadway,  the  only 
location  in  the  city  where  payment  of  rent  was  not 
demanded  in  advance.  Had  it  been  exacted  the 
luxury  of  an  office  would  have  been  dispensed  with, 
for  as  yet  there  was  no  money  either  in  the  treasury  of 
the  concern  or  within  sight  of  the  far-seeing  eye  of  the 
manager. 

Despite  the  absence  of  funds,  the  work  of  engaging 
the  company  went  merrily  on.  Swarms  of  artists 
made  application  for  positions. 

"Some  actors  would  rather  play  Shakespeare  than 

[115] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

eat,"  was  Bill's  comment  on  the  glut  in  the  classical 
market. 

Sitting  alone  in  the  office  at  the  close  of  the  day 
the  last  engagement  was  made,  he  heard  a  timid  knock 
on  the  door. 

Nobody  responding  to  his  "  Come  in!  "  he  repeated 
the  invitation  in  a  loud,  angry  voice. 

The  door  slowly  opened,  revealing  the  little  Van 
Balken  standing  abashed  on  the  threshold. 

Leaving  his  desk,  Bill  took  his  visitor  by  the  hand 
and  said  with  gentle  apology: 

"  I  did  n't  know  it  was  you,  or  I  should  n't  have 
yelled  like  that." 

A  grateful  glance  shot  from  the  girl's  downcast  eyes 

"It  did  frighten  me  some,  just  a  little  bit,"  was 
her  lisping  reply;  "but  I'm  all  right  now." 

"You  're  always  all  right,  kid." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Mr.  Truetell." 

As  she  entered  the  room,  Bill  noted  her  pleased 
expression  when  she  saw  the  imposing  roll-top  desk 
and  the  large  revolving  chair  in  front  of  it. 

"  I  'm  so  glad  you  're  on  your  feet  again,  Mr.  True 
tell,"  she  said. 

"  Bless  your  heart,  child,  this  furniture  is  n't  mine. 
I  'm  not  on  my  feet  yet.  I  'm  only  able  to  sit  up  and 
take  the  ladle  in  my  mouth  if  somebody  holds  it." 

"  Well,  you  '11  be  on  top  again  soon.  I  've  kept 
telling  them  you  were  no  '  has  been.' " 

[116] 


A   GIRL   BECOMES   SACRED 

"Telling  whom?" 

"  Ma  and  pop.     They  said  you  were  down  and  out." 

"And  you  didn't  believe  it?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it!"  she  declared  with  pretty  em 
phasis. 

"  Good  girl.     And  how  are  ma  and  pop  ?  " 

"  They  've  gone  on  the  road.  Got  a  chance  to  do 
character  work  in  '  The  Persian  Widowers.'  They 
left  last  Tuesday." 

"  Why  did  n't  they  take  you  along  ?  " 

"There  was  no  part  for  me,  and  the  manager  said 
our  specialty  was  too  old-fashioned.  I  came,  Mr. 
Truetell,  to  see  if  you  had  anything  for  me  in  your 
new  show.  I  hear,"  she  concluded  with  a  knowing 
air,  "  it 's  going  to  be  something  swell  and  elegant." 

"I'm  afraid  you're  too  late,  kid,"  he  regretfully 
said.  "All  the  places  are  filled,  and  besides,  this 
is  n't  in  your  line.  It 's  the  '  legitimate,'  you  know." 

"  The  '  legitimate '  ?     What 's  that,  Mr.  Truetell  ?  " 

"  Why,  it 's  altogether  different  from  singing  and 
dancing.  It 's  very  serious;  it 's  —  it 's  —  like  this  — " 
The  manager  folded  his  arms,  lowered  his  chin  on  his 
breast,  and  stalked  savagely  about  the  office. 

"Is  that  the  'legitimate,'  Mr.  Truetell?" 

"That  will  give  you  an  idea  of  it." 

"It  does  n  't  scare  me  for  a  second.     Watch  me." 

The  little  Van  Balken  folded  her  arms  and  gave  a 
lifelike  imitation  of  the  manager  strutting  tragically 

[117] 


BILL    TRUETELL 

around  the  room,  to  the  infinite  amusement  of  Bill,  who 
clapped  his  hands  and  said, 


"THE  LITTLE  VAN   BALKEN   FOLDED   HER    ARMS,    STRUTTING 
TRAGICALLY  ABOUT  THE  ROOM" 

"  On  the  level,  I  think  you  're  a  natural  actress  and 
could  play  'most  anything." 

"Sure  as  you're  born!"  was  the  confident  reply. 
"  Acting  's  acting,  whatever  you  call  it.  I  was  raised 

[118] 


A   GIRL   BECOMES   SACRED 

on  the  stage.  The  'legitimate'  would  be  candy  for 
me." 

She  came  a  little  closer  to  Bill  and  lisped,  "  Please 
find  a  place  for  me  in  your  company,  Mr.  Truetell.  I 
won't  take  up  much  room." 

Again  Bill  saw  in  her  countenance  the  wistful, 
pleading  expression  that  had  won  his  sympathy  the 
opening  night  of  "  The  Gay  Gothamites  "  in  Branton. 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't,  kid." 

The  girl  pouted  her  lips. 

"  If  it  was  only  my  own  show  all  alone,"  Bill  declared 
vehemently,  "nothing  should  stop  you  from  coming 
along,  but  you  see  this  is  a  new  line  for  me.  Mr. 
Steelson  's  the  whole  thing  as  far  as  engaging  the  people 
goes.  Several  of  'em  were  with  him  before,  and  now 
the  company  's  full  and  — " 

"  'Nough  said,"  she  interrupted  cheerily;  "never 
mind  me.  I  see  what  you  're  up  against." 

"That 's  a  brave  girl,  but  if  you  don't  fill  the  first 
vacancy  in  the  troupe  I  '11  resign  my  job." 

"It's  a  bargain!"  said  the  little  Van  Balken. 
Laughing  lightly  and  shaking  her  forefinger  at  him 
warningly,  she  added,  "  But  take  care  it  is  n't  the  lead 
ing  man's  place." 

Bill  seized  the  tiny  finger  and  drew  her  toward  him. 
The  girl,  still  laughing,  made  a  playful  show  of  resist 
ance.  It  was  a  crucial  moment  in  their  destiny.  The 
man  was  burning  with  a  sudden  desire  to  crush  her 

[119] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

fragile  little  body  in  his  arms  and  smother  her  pale 
face  with  his  kisses.  Instinctively  he  felt  she  would 
not  repel  him ;  yet  he  halted  on  the  very  brink.  Some 
thing,  he  knew  not  what,  restrained  him.  For  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  perhaps,  he  was  inspired  with 
genuine  respect  for  womankind.  A  wave  of  ennobling 
impulse  swept  over  him.  Keeping  her  at  arms'  length 
he  held  her  hands  tightly  in  his,  regarding  her  seriously 
and  steadily.  She  was  no  plaything  to  be  caressed  at 
will.  The  little  Van  Balken  became  sacred  in  Bill's 
eyes  as,  looking  into  hers,  they  saw  the  purity  reflected 
there.  The  sight  cleansed  his  soul. 

After  she  went  away  Bill  sat  long  at  his  desk  pon 
dering  over  his  sudden  transformation.  Why  had  he 
never  regarded  her  in  this  strange  light  before  ? 
Wherein  did  she  differ  from  all  the  other  girls  that  had 
amused  him  at  odd  intervals  from  his  early  manhood  ? 
Was  he  not  the  same  Bill  Truetell  ?  What  was  this 
mysterious  influence  which  had  stolen  into  his  being? 

"  I  guess  it  must  be  something  in  this  '  legitimate ' 
business,"  was  his  final  solution  of  the  psychological 
problem. 


[120] 


CHAPTER  XII 

FORT  BENSON  SURRENDERS 

A  WEEK  before  the  date  set  for  the  unloading  of 
the  classical  treasures  of  the  Steelson  repertoire 
upon  an  unsuspecting  American  public,  the 
financial  condition  of  the  company  reached  an  acute 
stage.  True,  there  were  scenery  and  properties  be 
longing  to  the  star,  used  by  him  in  previous  tours  and 
now  safely  stowed  away  in  a  storehouse  on  Twenty- 
ninth  Street,  but  it  was  equally  true  that  the  unfeeling 
storage  manager  refused  to  release  them  until  his  rent 
charges  were  paid  in  spot  cash  —  no  promises  nor 
stage  money  accepted. 

"Leave  him  to  me,"  announced  the  star  grandil 
oquently,  on  hearing  the  news.  Confident  that  his 
presence  would  overawe  the  creditor  into  a  state  of 
fawning  submission,  Mr.  Steelson  made  a  visit  to  the 
Twenty-ninth  Street  establishment  and  handed  his 
card  to  the  person  in  charge.  To  the  actor's  intense 
astonishment  the  man  after  reading  the  illustrious 
name  did  not  fall  on  his  knees  and  beg  to  be  forgiven. 
He  merely  squinted  in  a  curious  manner  at  his  dis 
tinguished  caller  and  uttered  a  long  drawn  out,  "  Well ! " 

[121] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

The  storehouse  keeper  was  manifestly  determined 
not  to  be  overawed  —  or  even  awed  —  in  the  faintest 
degree.  The  star,  recognizing  his  determination, 
changed  his  own  demeanor  with  protean  quickness, 
smiled  benignly,  and  said,  "  Of  course  you  know  what 
I  want." 

"And  of  course  you  know  what  I  want,"  was  the 
ready  response,  with  emphasis  laid  on  both  of  the  per 
sonal  pronouns. 

Here  was  a  dilemma  entirely  unlocked  for.  The 
star  revolved  the  situation  rapidly  in  his  mind,  and 
decided  on  another  change  of  attitude.  He  adopted 
a  pleading  tone,  skilfully  summoned  a  tear  to  each 
eye,  and  drew  a  vivid  picture  of  the  sufferings  which 
would  be  entailed  on  his  audiences  if  forced  to  see  his 
performances  without  the  proper  scenic  environment. 
If  the  storage  boss  felt  no  pity  for  him  he  should  at 
least  be  merciful  to  them.  But  pity  and  mercy  were 
not  factors  in  the  makeup  of  this  matter-of-fact  man. 
They  did  not  occupy  valuable  space  in  his  storehouse, 
he  bluntly  stated,  and  he  did  not  propose  to  shelter  the 
Steelson  belongings  simply  for  the  honor  of  having 
them  under  his  roof.  Moreover,  he  had  no  sympathy 
whatever  for  the  waiting  multitudes  along  the  Steel- 
son  route.  Whether  they  saw  Mr.  Steelson  without 
scenery,  or  scenery  without  Mr.  Steelson,  was  no  con 
cern  of  his.  He  was  wrapped  up  in  his  own  welfare, 
which  demanded  money  instead  of  conversation  for 

[122] 


FORT   BENSON   SURRENDERS 

value  received.  When  his  bill  was  paid  the  production 
would  be  released;  not  a  moment  before. 

This  heartless  summing  up  of  the  situation  jarred 
the  artistic  sensibilities  of  the  star.  His  mission  a  com 
plete  failure,  he  made  a  quick,  unstagelike  exit. 

In  line  with  the  malicious  retention  of  the  Steelson 
goods  and  chattels  in  storage  was  the  unpardonable 
conduct  of  various  landladies  in  whose  rooms  the  Steel- 
son  artists  were  lodged.  On  learning  of  the  date  fixed 
for  the  departure  of  the  troupe,  notices  were  promptly 
served  that  board  bills  must  be  paid  before  trunks 
could  be  removed  from  the  premises.  The  recipients 
of  the  notices,  being  without  the  means  of  adjusting 
their  accounts,  took  them  to  the  manager,  whose 
brain  was  already  reducing  itself  to  a  corroded  state 
in  the  effort  to  conquer  the  storage  problem,  the 
railroad-ticket  problem,  and  divers  other  matters 
requiring  cash  settlements. 

"  Of  course  you  '11  take  care  of  these  bills  for  us," 
said  the  artists,  as  they  cheerfully  handed  the  manager 
their  overdue  obligations. 

"  Anything  to  oblige  you,"  replied  Bill  with  a  coun 
terfeit  smile.  "  Tell  your  landladies  to  have  patience 
for  a  day  or  two  and  I  '11  see  what  I  can  do." 

He  shoved  the  accounts  in  his  pocket,  and  his  brain 
resumed  its  grind.  To  meet  all  the  demands  for 
money  the  executive  head  of  the  Steelson  organization 
did  not  possess  a  solitary  cent,  and  his  distinguished 

[123] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

partner  was  reduced  to  the  same  negative  financial 
condition.  There  was  every  indication  at  this  time 
that  the  Steelson  tour  would  extend  no  further  than 
the  imaginations  of  the  two  men  who  had  planned  it  in 
Battery  Park.  But  a  helping  hand  was  unwittingly 
stretched  out  from  an  unexpected  quarter. 

The  proprietor  of  a  brand-new  opera  house  in  Fort 
Benson,  Pennsylvania,  was  in  urgent  need  of  a  suitable 
attraction  for  his  opening  night.  Accidentally  hearing 
of  his  necessity,  Bill  promptly  sent  him  a  long  "  collect " 
telegram,  stating  in  substance  that  he  might  possibly 
arrange  to  give  him  the  great  Rupert  Steelson  in  a  com 
plete  classical  production  if  terms  were  made  agreeable. 

The  superior  tone  of  the  communication  made  so 
favorable  an  impression  on  the  mind  of  the  recipient 
of  the  message  that  he  paid  the  collect  charges  without 
a  murmur. 

All  the  circumstances  in  the  case  pointed  toward 
a  successful,  termination  of  the  negotiations.  The  Fort 
Bensonian  was  indulging  in  his  first  venture  in  the 
show  business,  and  was  therefore  unacquainted  with 
its  legerdemain  processes.  Rupert  Steelson  had  never 
appeared  in  Fort  Benson,  consequently  his  name  stood 
in  high  repute  among  its  citizens.  Moreover,  a  "  classi 
cal  production"  was  deemed  eminently  appropriate 
for  the  dedication  of  the  new  playhouse. 

In  the  answer  from  Fort  Benson,  Bill  read  with 
delight  that  Rupert  Steelson  would  be  a  satisfactory 

[124] 


FORT   BENSON    SURRENDERS 

opening  attraction.  As  far  as  terms  were  concerned, 
the  writer  modestly  stated  that  he  would  rely  on  the 
riper  experience  of  Mr.  Steelson's  manager. 

The  man  of  riper  experience  immediately  wired  that 
he  could  not  accept  less  than  a  five-hundred-dollar 
guarantee,  and  half  of  this  sum  must  be  remitted  at 
once  as  evidence  of  the  good  faith  and  financial 
stability  of  the  Fort  Benson  manager.  That  guile 
less  gentleman  on  receiving  the  message  was  more 
impressed  than  ever.  Questioning  of  his  financial 
stability  and  requiring  half  the  guarantee  to  be  paid 
down  reflected  credit,  he  believed,  on  the  business-like 
methods  of  Truetell,  whose  own  financial  standing, 
he  assumed,  must  be  of  the  highest. 

The  more  consideration  he  gave  Bill's  proposition 
the  stronger  became  his  inclination  to  accept,  but  he 
finally  decided  to  let  the  matter  rest  overnight  and 
wait  for  the  sober  second  thought  of  the  morning.  In 
this  decision  he  reckoned  without  his  correspondent, 
who,  after  two  hours  alternately  spent  between  the 
brightest  hope  and  the  darkest  despair,  sent  this 
peremptory  despatch  to  Fort  Benson: 

Unless  I  hear  from  you  immediately  must  positively 
book  Steelson  elsewhere.  Several  other  places  wiring 

me  for  date.     Answer  quick.  ^ 

TRUETELL. 

It  was  a  long  gambling  chance,  but  it  won.  The 
house  of  the  Fort  Benson  magnate  was  a  good  half- 

[125] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

hour's  journey  from  the  telegraph  office,  yet  he  covered 
it  in  half  that  time  in  his  eagerness  to  supervise  per 
sonally  the  sending  of  an  answer  of  unqualified  accept 
ance,  also  remitting  by  wire  the  two  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars. 

Through  the  complete  success  of  this  master  stroke 
of  diplomacy  the  mobility  of  the  Steelson  company  be 
came  a  certainty.  Creditors  were  satisfied,  temporarily 
at  least,  preliminary  details  were  arranged,  and  every 
thing  put  in  shape  for  the  initial  performance  which 
Bill,  by  a  dexterous  shifting  of  dates,  arranged  to  give 
in  Fort  Benson.  The  balance  of  the  guarantee  there 
would  give  the  show  a  sufficiently  strong  momentum 
to  carry  it  farther  on  its  route. 

Dan  Darnold,  who  went  to  Fort  Benson  ahead  of 
the  attraction,  sent  back  to  Bill  glowing  predictions 
of  what  would  happen  when  the  company  arrived  to 
open  the  new  opera  house.  Coming  from  Darnold, 
the  rosy  forecast  was  accepted  as  entirely  worthy  of 
credence,  since  this  advance  representative  was  ordi 
narily  a  cold-blooded  individual  with  a  reputation  for 
rarely  venturing  a  prophecy  regarding  box-office  results. 

"  This  town,"  Darnold  wrote,  "  is  simply  crazy  over 
its  new  theatre.  In  my  judgment,  the  day  of  the 
dedication  will  cause  Fourth  of  July  and  Christmas 
to  look  like  plugged  quarters.  They  are  making  a 
hero  out  of  me,  and  I  am  only  the  agent  of  the  troupe. 
They  won't  do  a  solitary  thing  to  Steelson." 

[126] 


FORT   BENSON   SURRENDERS 

It  was  Bill's  privilege  to  sit  in  the  seat  with  the  star 
on  the  train  carrying  the  company  to  its  first  stand. 
The  other  members  of  the  organization  took  a  whole 
seat  each  for  personal  use,  and  the  remaining  vacant 
places  in  the  car  for  the  accommodation  of  their  belong 
ings.  Having  thus  secured  possession  of  the  entire 
coach  by  the  right  of  eminent  domain,  their  journey 
began. 

The  run  was  only  a  few  hours  in  length.  The  artist 
who  honored  Bill  by  his  proximity  divided  the  time 
between  short  naps  and  longer  questions  regarding  the 
town  they  were  travelling  to  and  the  celebration 
planned.  Bill  had  received  much  information  from 
Darnold,  and  was  able  to  answer  most  of  his  queries'. 
The  place,  he  explained  to  him,  was  named  Fort  Ben 
son  presumably  because  never  in  its  entire  history  had 
it  contained  a  fortified  affair  of  any  sort. 

Reverting  to  the  dedication  of  the  new  theatre,  Bill 
informed  Steelson  that  the  promoter  and  owner  of  the 
playhouse  was  the  principal  man  of  the  town,  who  had 
grown  wealthy  by  paying  small  wages  to  his  towns 
people,  nearly  all  of  whom  worked  in  his  factories.  For 
some  mysterious  reason,  he  had  long  been  considered 
a  public  benefactor,  and  now  that  he  had  built  a  theatre 
which  would  enable  him  to  increase  his  means  at  the 
further  expense  of  his  employees,  he  was  venerated  as 
an  idol.  His  name  was  Colonel  John  Phoenix  Frothing- 
ham. 

•       [  127  ] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

"  What 's  that  ?  "  broke  in  the  star.  "  Tell  me  his 
name  again." 

Bill  complied. 

"  Colonel  John  Phoenix  Frothingham,"  echoed  Mr. 
Steelson.  "I  must  remember  the  name.  I  may  be 
called  on  for  a  speech.  Colonel  —  John  —  Phoenix  — 
Frothingham,"  he  repeated,  dwelling  with  emphasis  on 
each  word.  "  It 's  a  hard  name  to  fasten  in  my  memory. 
Why  was  n't  it  John  Jones  ?  " 

He  continued  the  repetition,  first  in  audible  tones 
and  afterward  in  low,  incoherent  murmurs,  until  he  fell 
into  another  doze,  which  lasted  until  the  train  halted 
at  Fort  Benson. 

If  any  doubt  existed  about  the  extent  of  the  town's 
enthusiasm,  it  was  dispelled  by  the  sight  of  the  hundreds 
of  Fort  Bensonians  who  swarmed  about  the  little  depot. 
They  gave  three  vociferous  cheers  as  the  cars  stopped, 
while  the  local  band  at  the  end  of  the  platform  struck 
up  "Hail  to  the  Chief!" 

"Really,"  said  Mr.  Steelson,  waking  from  his  nap 
and  looking  out  at  the  crowd,  "this  is  positively  more 
than  I  expected.  Perhaps  they  '11  want  me  to  make  a 
speech  now.  What  did  you  say  that  man's  name  was  — 
Colonel  John  —  Phoenix  —  " 

His  endeavor  to  recall  the  name  was  interrupted 
by  the  sudden  entrance  into  the  car  of  a  delegation  of 
excited  townspeople.  They  were  headed  by  a  wild- 
eyed,  flushed-cheeked  youth  of  one  or  two  and  twenty, 

[128] 


FORT   BENSON   SURRENDERS 

who  panted  for  breath  as  he  called  out,  "Which  is 
Rupert  Steelson?" 

Bill  stepped  forward,  introduced  himself  as  the 
star's  manager,  and  led  the  young  man  to  Mr.  Steelson's 
seat. 

"How  are  you,  Mr.  Steelson?"  he  blurted  out. 
*'My  name  's  Lieutenant  Frothingham.  I  'm  Colonel 
Frothingham's  son.  They  sent  me  down  to  bring  you 
up  to  our  house.  They  want  you  to  stop  there  while 
you  're  in  town." 

His  use  of  the  plural  pronoun  inclined  Bill  to  suspect 
that  his  paternal  parent  did  not  monopolize  the  domes 
tic  prerogatives;  later,  when  he  met  the  maternal  end 
of  the  Frothingham  household,  this  suspicion  merged 
into  a  firm  belief. 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Mr.  Steelson,  replying  to 
the  invitation,  "but  I  must  ask  you  to  excuse  me.  I 
am  not  feeling  very  well,  and  besides,  arrangements 
have  already  been  made  for  me  at  the  hotel." 

Neither  of  these  reasons  had  the  slightest  foundation 
in  fact.  Several  years  before,  he  had  formed  a  resolve 
never  to  accept  offers  of  hospitality  such  as  the  Froth- 
inghams  extended. 

"I  used  to  do  so  once  in  a  while,"  he  afterward 
confided  to  Bill,  "  but  it  would  have  killed  me  if  I  had 
kept  it  up.  Instead  of  being  entertained,  I  had  to  do 
all  the  entertaining." 

Lieutenant   Frothingham   unsuccessfully  tried   his 

[129] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

powers  of  persuasion  on  Mr.  Steelson.  Finally  the 
young  man  turned  to  Bill. 

"  What 's  your  name  ? "  he  abruptly  demanded. 
The  manager  gave  him  the  information,  though  only  a 
few  minutes  had  elapsed  since  he  had  introduced  him 
self  to  him. 

"Oh,  that's  it,  is  it?"  he  said.  "Well,  now  you 
must  make  him  go  with  me  up  to  the  house.  He  '11  do 
as  you  say.  You  're  his  manager." 

Bill  did  not  have  leisure  to  explain  to  the  lieutenant 
the  difference  between  managing  a  dramatic  star  and 
a  trained  bear,  so  he  simply  assured  him  it  would  be 
impossible  for  his  invitation  to  be  accepted. 

"  Then  at  least  you  '11  let  me  drive  you  both  to  the 
hotel,"  persisted  the  youth.  This  request  was  acceded 
to.  They  left  the  train  and  climbed  into  the  high, 
two-seated  open  carriage  to  which  the  lieutenant  es 
corted  them.  The  ride  to  the  hotel  would  have  lasted 
only  half  a  minute  if  they  had  gone  directly  thither,  for 
it  was  located  just  around  the  corner  from  the  station, 
but  young  Frothingham,  who  proudly  held  the  reins 
in  the  front  seat  while  the  star  and  Bill  sat  meekly 
behind  him,  followed  a  roundabout  course  through  the 
principal  streets,  giving  the  trip  the  appearance  of  a 
Roman  triumph. 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  Fort  Benson  was  expecting 
Mr.  Steelson.  The  business  of  the  town  was  sus 
pended;  the  entire  population  in  the  streets.  Adults 

[130] 


FORT   BENSON   SURRENDERS 

stood  in  groups  on  the  sidewalks,  a  juvenile  contingent 
acted  as  a  body-guard  for  the  carriage,  and  the  town 
band  formed  a  tuneful  rear-guard  for  the  procession. 
Mr.  Steelson's  countenance  wore  one  of  his  choicest 
stage  smiles. 

When  the  street  exhibition  was  finished,  the  star 
complained  of  fatigue  and  asked  the  hotel  clerk  to  have 
him  shown  to  his  room  at  once.  Bill  accompanied  him 
and  remained  while  he  took  off  his  clothes,  donned  his 
pajamas,  and  stretched  himself  on  the  bed. 

"  I  hope  there  won't  be  any  more  racket  till  night," 
Mr.  Steelson  remarked,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "  for  now  I 
feel  thoroughly  at  ease."  His  appearance  did  not  belie 
his  feelings.  He  furnished  a  picturesque  illustration 
of  genuine  comfort  as  he  reclined  on  the  old-fashioned 
bed,  his  blue  pajamas  forming  a  striking  contrast  to  the 
red  coverlet,  while  his  bald  head  minus  his  wig  scarcely 
made  a  dent  in  the  hard  pillow.  Lighting  a  cigar,  he 
blew  strong  puffs  of  smoke  toward  the  ceiling,  as  if  try 
ing  to  pierce  the  cracks  in  the  plastering.  Bill  was 
about  to  withdraw  from  the  scene  of  contentment,  when 
a  loud  knock  on  the  door  was  heard.  The  next  second 
a  half -drunk,  stumpy  person  launched  himself  uncere 
moniously  into  the  room. 

"  Ah,  Rupe,"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  caught  sight  of  the 
pajama-clad  figure.  "My  old  friend  Rupe!  Don't 
you  remember  Aby  Klein,  who  worked  with  you  in 
stock  in  Baltimore  thirty  years  ago?" 

[131] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

If  Mr.  Steelson  had  forgotten  he  certainly  did  not 
strain  his  memory  by  attempting  to  recall  him.  The 
familiar  use  of  the  star's  first  name  failed  to  prepossess 
the  intruder  in  Mr.  Steelson's  favor.  No  one,  to  Bill's 


*AH,  RUPE,'  HE  EXCLAIMED.    'My  OLD  FRIEND  RUPE!'  ' 


knowledge,  had  ever  presumed  to  take  this  liberty,  and 
he  could  hardly  credit  his  hearing  when  the  utterly 
undignified  appellation  of  "Rupe"  fell  from  the  lips 
of  the  visitor.  It  savored  strongly  of  the  sacrilegious. 
Aby  did  not  so  regard  it. 

"You  '11  remember  me  all  right,  Rupe,  when  you 

[132] 


FORT   BENSON  SURRENDERS 

get  time  to  think,"  he  said,  reassuringly.  "Why,  I 
handled  'props'  the  night  you  first  appeared  in  *  Blue- 
Eyed  Nelly '—long  before  you  tackled  the  'legit.'  " 

At  his  mention  of  a  comedy  which  was  always  a 
source  of  pride  to  Mr.  Steelson,  that  eminent  artist  re 
laxed  his  features  a  little  and  arose  from  the  bed  to 
greet  his  old  associate. 

"  Ah,  I  thought  you  'd  remember  me,  Rupe,  old 
chap,"  cried  Aby,  giving  the  actor  a  friendly  punch  on 
the  shoulder  that  nearly  knocked  him  over.  "  What  a 
night  we  'd  all  have  together  here  if  poor  old  Jim 
Adams  was  alive." 

The  stumpy  individual  tried  to  keep  old  Jim's  mem 
ory  green  by  watering  it  with  a  tear  or  two,  and  pro 
ceeded  with  a  rambling  story  of  his  own  experiences  up 
to  his  present  engagement  as  property  man  in  the  new 
"op'ry"  house  in  Fort  Benson. 

"  I  've  been  telling  some  of  my  friends  —  good  fellows 
every  one  of  them  —  here  in  town  about  our  high  old 
times  together,  Rupe,"  he  said  in  conclusion,  "  and  if 
you  don't  mind,  I  '11  introduce  you  to  them  after 
the  performance,  and  we  '11  make  a  night  of  it." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  the  star  to  his  caller,  "  if  you  '11 
excuse  me,  I  '11  finish  the  rest  I  was  enjoying  before  you 
came  in." 

Aby  showing  no  disposition  to  go,  Bill  helped  him 
to  the  stairway,  and  he  went  downstairs  muttering  that 
it  was  "  very  different  from  the  days  of  old  Jim  Adams." 

[133] 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  NEW  "OPRY"  HOUSE 

WHEN  Bill  returned  to  Mr.  Steelson's  room 
the  distinguished  actor  had  composed  him 
self  and  his  pajamas  once  more  upon  the 
red  coverlet.  Again  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door, 
which  was  opened  almost  simultaneously  by  a  stout, 
pompous  old  gentleman,  who  asked  which  of  the 
occupants  of  the  room  was  Mr.  Steelson.  Bill  waved 
his  hand  in  the  direction  of  the  pajama-clad  form  on 
the  bed. 

"Delighted!"  said  the  pompous  gentleman,  with 
a  stiff  bow.  "I  feel  honored,  sir;  honored.  While 
you  are  in  Fort  Benson,  sir,  I  will  be  pleased  to  show 
you  round,  sir;  round,  sir.  I  know  the  best  people 
here,  sir,  and  it  will  be  an  honor  for  me  to  introduce 
you.  Make  yourself  perfectly  at  home,  sir;  perfectly 
at  home." 

When  he  stopped  for  breath,  the  star  interjected: 
"  Who,  in  the  name  of  Heaven  or  a  warmer  place, 
are  you,  sir?" 

"I  'm  the  landlord  of  the  hotel,  sir,"  was  the  reply. 

"Well,    Mr.    Landlord,"    returned    the    pestered 

[134] 


THE  NEW     'OP'RY'     HOUSE 

actor,  "  if  you  '11  go  downstairs  again  I  '11  ring  for  you 
when  I  want  you." 

The  landlord  protested.  The  star  shut  his  eyes 
and  kept  them  closed  until  the  host  withdrew. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Steelson,  when  he 
opened  his  eyes,  and  looked  around  to  be  sure  they 
were  really  alone,  "  I  did  n't  mind  what  he  said  so 
much,  but  I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  '11  stand  this  habit  of 
bursting  into  my  room  unannounced.  If  it 's  the 
custom  of  the  town,  it 's  time  they  changed  it." 

Bill  left  the  actor  to  reflect  on  Fort  Benson's  eti 
quette,  and  walked  up  the  street  to  the  new  "op'ry" 
house.  Going  through  the  long  lobby  and  entering 
the  auditorium,  he  saw,  to  his  surprise,  that,  though 
it  was  early  in  the  afternoon,  many  of  the  chairs  were 
already  occupied.  He  asked  Lieutenant  Frothingham, 
whom  he  met  at  the  door,  if  the  people  expected  a 
matinee  performance. 

"No,"  was  his  response,  "they're  just  seeing 
how  their  seats  feel.  'Sort  of  getting  accustomed  to 
them  for  to-night." 

Apparently  the  occupants  of  the  plush  chairs  were 
determined  to  receive  full  value  for  the  money  invested 
in  tickets.  To  add  to  their  enjoyment,  the  elec 
trician  stood  at  his  switchboard  and  pulled  the  levers 
one  by  one  that  lit  up  the  various  parts  of  the 
theatre.  With  each  flash  of  light,  a  chorus  of  "ohs" 
and  "  ahs  "  went  up  from  the  admiring  Fort  Bensonians. 

[135] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

"There's  my  father  and  mother,"  announced  the 
lieutenant,  pointing  to  a  private  box  on  the  right. 
"We  '11  go  around  and  I  '11  introduce  you  to  them." 

Bill  followed  him  to  the  box  where  the  Frothing- 
hams  were  sitting  in  state  gazing  down,  with  an  air  of 
conscious  superiority,  on  the  common  herd  in  the 
orchestra  seats. 

"Father,"  said  the  lieutenant,  "this  is  Mr.  Steel- 
son's  manager,  Mr.  — .  Let 's  see,  what  is  your 

?M 

For  the  second  time  that  afternoon  Bill  answered 
the  question.  To  avoid  any  further  lapses  of  memory, 
he  took  his  card  from  his  pocket  and  handed  it  to  the 
young  man,  who  in  turn  handed  it  to  his  father.  The 
latter,  having  glanced  at  the  name,  briefly  expressed 
his  gratitude  to  Bill  for  arranging  for  Mr.  Steelson's 
appearance,  and  then  dutifully  handed  the  card  to 
his  wife.  In  many  respects  they  were  an  interesting 
couple.  The  colonel  was  tall  and  well  proportioned. 
He  had  a  closely  cropped  gray  beard,  a  Pecksniffian 
expression,  and  a  bearing  suggestive  of  active  military 
service,  though  all  his  fighting,  as  Darnold  had  told 
Bill,  had  been  done  by  proxy.  Darnold  had  further 
informed  him  that  the  townspeople,  having  formed 
the  habit  of  calling  the  father  "colonel,"  simply  be 
cause  he  looked  the  part,  had  dubbed  the  son  "lieu 
tenant"  for  no  better  reason. 

Mrs.   Frothingham,   in  her  shoes,  stood  just  half 

[136] 


THE  NEW    "OP'RY'     HOUSE 

as  high  as  her  husband,  but  in  her  own  estimation 
she  towered  away  above  him.  She  was  the  owner  of 
a  peaked  nose,  and  black  snappy  eyes  that  appeared 


COLONEL  FROTHINGHAM 


to  be  constantly  making  a  circuit  of  everything  in  the 
theatre,  from  the  large  glistening  chandelier  hanging 
from  the  ceiling  to  the  bright  blue  carpet  on  the  aisles. 

[137] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

Bill  shook  hands  with  the  Frothinghams,  congrat 
ulating  them  on  the  new  opera  house  and  the  pleasure 
they  must  feel  on  its  completion. 

"Yes,"  responded  the  colonel,  and  he  astonished 
Bill  by  giving  a  long-drawn  sigh;  "  it  would  be  pleasant 
indeed  but  for  one  thing.  Look  there." 

He  made  a  gesture  toward  a  chair  draped  in  mourn 
ing  occupying  a  prominent  position  in  the  front  of  the 
box. 

"The  'vacant  chair,'"  said  the  colonel  with  an 
other  sigh.  "If  our  married  daughter  was  alive  she 
would  sit  in  it  to-night,  but  she  died  just  six  months 
ago.  It  was  a  terrible  blow  to  us.  Her  husband 
and  her  little  baby  will  be  with  us  to-night;  but  no 
body  will  use  the  chair.  It  will  be  reserved  for 
Mary's  spirit  if  she  can  come." 

Bill  had  faith  enough  in  the  excellence  of  the 
performance  not  to  doubt  that  it  would  prove  vastly 
entertaining  for  Mary's  spirit,  if  she  had  no  other 
engagement  for  that  evening.  To  the  Frothinghams, 
however,  he  made  no  suggestion  of  this  sort.  The 
colonel's  grief  appeared  to  be  genuine,  and  his  method 
of  parading  it  was  purely  a  matter  of  taste. 

Mrs.  Frothingham's  reflections  were  not  as  gloomy 
as  her  husband's. 

"  I  've  been  thinking,"  she  chirruped,  "  how  we 
ought  to  come  into  this  box  to-night.  It  won't  do  to 
enter  before  all  the  folks  out  there  are  seated,"  motion- 

[138] 


THE  NEW     'OP'RY'     HOUSE 

ing  as  she  spoke  toward  her  subjects  in  the  plush  seats; 
"and  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  waiting  in  the  lobby 
where  people  coming  in  can  see  us.  I  think,  after 
all,  we  ought  to  stay  on  the  stage  until  just  before  the 
curtain  is  ready  to  go  up.  Then  we  can  come  out 
through  the  side  door  and  make  our  entrance.  I  think 
the  effect  will  be  much  better  that  way.  Don't  you  ?  " 
she  asked,  turning  to  Bill  for  an  expert  opinion. 

Seeing  that  the  mistress  of  the  Frothingham  house 
hold  was  bent  on  making  what  Bill  would  term  a 
"grand-stand  play,"  he  secured  a  warm  place  in  her 
regard  by  declaring  that  the  idea  could  not  be  im 
proved.  Thereupon  the  little  lady  showed  her  ap 
preciation  of  his  judgment  by  offering  to  conduct  him 
personally  over  the  theatre.  He  accepted,  and  made 
the  tour  of  inspection  under  her  escort,  her  husband 
and  son  walking  submissively  behind.  When  the 
examination  of  the  interior  was  finished  they  visited 
the  box-office.  The  ticket-seller  was  engaged  in  an 
animated  conversation  with  a  buxom  lady,  who  was 
as  undecided  about  the  purchase  of  her  tickets  as  if 
she  was  selecting  goods  at  a  dry-goods  counter. 

"I  don't  like  those  seats  at  all,"  she  was  saying, 
pointing  to  a  couple  that  had  just  been  shown  to  her. 
"  Have  n't  you  anything  near  the  Ridleys  ? "  The 
omniscient  man  in  the  box-office  informed  her  that 
every  location  near  the  Ridleys  was  taken. 

"  Too  bad.     I  'd  like  to  be  near  Mrs.  Ridley  so  's 

[139] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

we  could  have  a  nice  long  talk  while  the  play  's  going 
on.  My  husband  could  tell  me  all  about  it  when  we 
got  home." 

"  I  can  give  you  two  right  in  front  of  the  Hortons," 
insinuated  the  ticket-seller. 

"  Kin  ye  ?  Right  in  front  ?  I  '11  take  them. 
Now  that  Horton  woman  kin  see  she  ain't  the  only  one 
in  Fort  Benson  with  a  new  bonnet.  Young  man,  I  'm 
much  obliged." 

She  produced  a  net  purse  and  paid  for  the  tickets. 
As  she  turned  to  go  there  was  a  telephone  ring  in  the 
box-office.  The  ticket-seller  answered  the  call.  It 
proved  to  be  an  order,  "the  two  best  seats  in  the 
house,"  for  a  young  man  and  woman  who  were  to  be 
married  at  seven  o'clock  that  evening. 

"It  isn't  possible,"  Bill  said,  "that  they  intend 
to  come  right  here  after  the  ceremony  and  sit  in  full 
view  of  everybody  ?  " 

Neither  the  Frothinghams  nor  the  ticket-seller 
could  see  anything  remarkable  in  the  procedure. 

"  Why  should  n't  they  come  here  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Frothingham.  "What  better  place  in  town  could 
they  go  to?" 

From  her  last  question,  Bill  drew  the  conclusion 
that  going  out  of  town  for  a  honeymoon  was  not  the 
fashion  in  Fort  Benson.  He  made  no  further  com 
ment,  but  his  mind  busied  itself  with  reflections  on 
the  strange  play  that  would  be  enacted  without  words 

[140] 


THE   NEW     'OP'RY'     HOUSE 

before  the  curtain  of  the  new  "op'ry"  house  that 
night;  a  play  in  which  the  principal  features  would 
be  the  gruesome  "vacant  chair"  in  the  private  box 
and  the  happy  young  bridal  couple  in  "  the  two  best 
seats  in  the  house." 

When  he  returned  to  the  hotel  it  was  time  for 
supper,  which  Mr.  Steelson  and  his  manager  partook  of 
together.  The  star  was  in  much  better  humor  now. 
He  had  locked  his  door,  he  informed  Bill,  and  having 
thus  made  himself  safe  from  intrusions  he  had  en 
joyed  a  long  nap.  There  was  only  one  interruption, 
when  he  thought  he  heard  his  stumpy  acquaintance 
calling  "  Rupe."  Bill  suggested  that  he  had  dreamed 
it,  and  Mr.  Steelson  thought  it  probable.  His  ac 
quiescence  in  the  suggestion  was  not  unusual,  since 
conceit  in  this  form  was  not  one  of  his  characteristics. 
In  this  respect  he  had  few  parallels  among  the  stars  of 
his  generation. 

Supper  over,  Mr.  Steelson  and  Bill  proceeded  to 
the  theatre  and  went  immediately  on  the  stage.  There 
they  found  the  Frothinghams,  father,  mother,  son,  son- 
in-law,  and  grandson,  waiting  to  make  their  entrance. 
The  baby  was  such  a  noisy  youngster  that  Bill  drew  a 
mental  picture  of  an  interrupted  performance.  He 
expressed  a  fear  to  Mr.  Steelson,  who  replied  good- 
naturedly,  "Oh,  never  mind.  This  is  their  night, 
and  we  '11  let  them  do  as  they  please.  The  child 
will  have  to  be  pretty  loud  to  break  up  this  show." 

[141] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

While  Lieutenant  Frothingham  was  introducing- 
the  star  to  his  relatives,  Bill  went  out  to  the  front  of 
the  theatre  to  watch  the  crowds,  already  flocking  in. 
The  first-night  patrons  of  the  Opera  House  had  no 
difficulty  in  entering  the  outer  door  and  moving  the 
length  of  the  lobby.  Passing  by  the  ticket-taker  at 
the  inner  portal  appeared  to  be  an  impossible  propo 
sition.  At  that  point  the  Fort  Bensonians  were  wedged 
in  a  solid  mass  against  the  doorkeeper,  whose  face  wore 
a  hopeless  expression  as  he  begged  them  to  take  their 
time,  and  "  not  rush  like  a  lot  of  football  players." 

Something  was  radically  wrong  with  the  arrange 
ments  for  seating  the  people,  and  it  did  not  take  long 
to  discover  the  cause.  The  fault  lay  primarily  with 
Lieutenant  Frothingham  and  instrumentally  with  the 
ushers.  The  lieutenant,  with  his  inherited  and  acquired 
military  knowledge,  had  carefully  instructed  the  ushers 
how  to  walk,  how  to  stand,  how  to  bow,  and  how  to 
wear  their  bright  new  uniforms.  He  had  overlooked 
one  rather  important  particular  —  to  familiarize  them 
with  the  locations  and  numbers  of  the  different  seats. 
Not  having  the  faintest  idea  of  the  whereabouts  of  a 
certain  orchestra  chair,  for  instance,  it  was  naturally  a 
trying  and  tedious  task  for  an  usher  to  lead  to  it  the 
holder  of  a  coupon.  As  a  result,  Bill  saw  several 
parties,  composed  of  ushers  and  persons  they  were 
supposed  to  escort,  wandering  aimlessly  up  and  down 
the  aisles  like  people  in  a  maze. 

[142] 


THE   NEW    "OP'RY9     HOUSE 

He  recognized  in  one  of  these  bands  of  wanderers 
a  man  whom  he  had  seen  "trying  his  chair"  that 
afternoon. 

When  he  passed  Bill  the  manager  plucked  his  sleeve. 

"You  know  where  your  seat  is,  don't  you?"  he 
asked. 

The  Fort  Bensonian  retaliated,  "Of  course  I 
know  where  it  is,  but  we  have  to  foller  the  usher  just 
the  same,  don't  we?" 

When  he  was  told  that  such  a  formality  was  not 
necessary,  he  made  a  bee-line  for  the  right  spot.  His 
example  proved  contagious,  and  afterward  the  ser 
vices  of  the  ushers  were  dispensed  with.  The  people 
ushered  themselves,  and  those  who  did  not  know 
where  their  places  were  located,  took  any  seats  that 
were  handy. 

Among  the  last  to  arrive  was  the  bridal  couple.  It 
needed  nobody  to  point  them  out,  since  it  could  be 
plainly  seen  as  they  entered  the  theatre  that  this  was 
their  first  appearance  in  public  as  man  and  wife. 
Arm  in  arm  they  walked  down  the  aisle,  both  trying 
and  failing  to  appear  unconcerned.  The  bride  wore 
the  white  dress  in  which  she  had  been  married.  On 
her  black  hair  rested  a  spray  of  smilax.  Her  cheeks 
glowed  with  blushes.  There  was  not  a  trace  of  color 
in  the  groom's  face.  Attired  in  a  black  suit  of 
store  clothes,  he  marched  stiffly  along,  his  head 
tilted  back,  and  his  expression  seeming  to  say,  "  Smile 

[143] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

at  us,  if  you  dare."  Bill  expected  at  least  a  little 
show  of  mirth  when  the  spectators  beheld  the  newly 
married  pair,  but  the  expectation  was  not  realized. 
Nobody  tittered;  nobody  even  smiled.  On  the  con 
trary,  everybody  appeared  to  regard  it  as  the  proper 
thing  for  the  young  man  and  his  bride  to  start  their 
honeymoon  by  going  to  the  new  "  op'ry  "  house. 

When  they  reached  their  places  and  sat  down,  the 
young  man  squared  his  shoulders  and  put  his  arm 
tenderly  around  the  waist  of  his  blushing  bride,  who 
graciously  allowed  it  to  remain  there  throughout  the 
entire  performance. 


[  144  ] 


CHAPTER  XIV 

PLAYING  "SHE  STOOPS" 

IT  was  now  time  for  the  play  to  begin.     An  overture 
of  national  airs  had  been  tortured  to  death  by  the 
orchestra.      The   lights   in  the   auditorium  were 
dimmed,  and  the  footlights  turned  up.    Bill  wondered 
why  the  curtain  did  not  rise.    He  had  forgotten  that  this 
was  the  opportune  moment  selected  by  Mrs.  Frothing- 
ham  for  the  entrance  of  herself  and  her  relatives.     All 
eyes  were  turned  toward  the  private  box. 

Soon  the  draperies  in  the  rear  were  parted,  and  the 
first  family  of  Fort  Benson  made  its  appearance  while 
the  theatre  resounded  with  applause.  Lieutenant 
Frothingham  led  the  way,  carrying  the  baby,  who  in 
turn  carried  a  large  apple,  evidently  given  it  for  quieting 
purposes.  Next  entered  Mrs.  Frothingham  with  the 
dignity  of  a  queen,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  bereaved 
son-in-law.  The  colonel,  stately  and  alone,  brought  up 
the  rear.  There  was  another  burst  of  applause  when 
they  took  their  seats.  The  baby  waved  its  hands  over 
the  rail  of  the  box  as  if  to  acknowledge  the  greeting. 
In  doing  so,  unfortunately,  it  let  fall  its  apple,  which 
struck  the  bald  head  of  a  gentleman  directly  beneath. 

[145] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

A  howl  of  anguish  came  from  the  victim,  and  a  howl 
of  enjoyment  from  the  audience.  The  bald-headed 
man  rubbed  the  sore  spot,  and  the  spectators  roared 
again.  Mrs.  Frothingham  smiled  approvingly  on  the 
child. 

It  is  pretty  certain  that  Sir  Isaac  Newton  discovered 
the  law  of  gravity  from  watching  the  fall  of  an  apple. 
It  is  equally  certain  that  the  fall  of  the  apple  in  the  Fort 
Benson  Opera  House  so  thoroughly  upset  the  gravity 
of  the  townspeople  that  their  merriment  might  have 
continued  indefinitely  if  the  curtain  had  not  gone  up  on 
the  first  act  of  "She  Stoops." 

At  the  end  of  the  first  act,  Lieutenant  Frothingham 
rushed  up  to  Bill.  "I  say,"  he  blurted  out,  panting 
for  breath  as  usual,  "  I  want  you  to  introduce  me  to  the 
leading  lady.  She  's  made  a  big  hit  with  me,  and 
mother  thinks  it  will  be  all  right  for  me  to  know  her. 
Mother  says  she  '11  let  me  take  her  out  to  supper  after 
the  show." 

It  had  not  occurred  to  the  unsophisticated  youth 
that  the  leading  lady's  consent  was  necessary.  So 
Bill  made  no  suggestion  to  that  effect,  conducting  him 
into  the  presence  of  Miss  Wentworth,  who,  dressed  in  a 
becoming  gown  of  the  eighteenth-century  period,  and 
a  Gainsborough  hat  with  big  nodding  black  plumes, 
was  sitting  in  her  dressing-room  awaiting  the  call  for  the 
second  act.  She  was  charming  enough  at  that  moment 
to  have  captivated  an  army  of  lieutenants.  Young 

[  146  ] 


PLAYING     'SHE   STOOPS' 

Frothingham  was  terribly  embarrassed  as  Bill  per 
formed  the  ceremony  of  the  introduction.  His  face 
would  not  have  been  redder  if  he  had  applied  the  whole 
box  of  rouge  on  the  actress's  table. 

He  stammered  out,  "  Delighted,  Miss  —  er  —  Miss 

—  er  —  By  Jove !  I  can't  think  of  your  name.      Soon 

—  I  —  won't  know  my  own.     Well  —  anyway,  Miss 

-  Miss  Actress  —  mother  wants  to  know  —  that  is  — 

I  want  to  know  if  you  '11  let  me  take  you  to  supper 

after  the  show?" 

The  leading  lady's  bright  eyes  twinkled. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  accept,"  she  replied,  "  if  you  '11 
take  my  old  man  along,  too.  Here,  Jim,"  calling  to  her 
husband,  the  lanky  "character  man"  standing  in  the 
wings.  "  Jim,"  she  repeated  when  that  elongated  dis 
ciple  of  Thespis  came  up  and  was  presented  to  the 
lieutenant,  "Mr.  Frothingham  has  invited  us  out  to 
supper." 

"Why,  certainly,"  said  Jim,  "I  'm  agreeable." 

The  lieutenant  could  not  restrain  a  look  of  disap 
pointment,  though  he  stuttered  out  a  sentence  in  which 
Bill  thought  he  could  distinguish  the  word  "  delighted." 

The  call  for  the  second  act  summoned  the  leading 
lady  and  Jim.  When  they  had  hurried  away  the  lieu 
tenant  uncorked  his  wrath  with,  "Pretty  smart  trick, 
I  call  it." 

"Whose,"  Bill  innocently  inquired,  "the  leading 
lady's  or  Jim's?" 

[147] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

"  Neither  of  them.  Yours.  You  might  have  told 
me  she  was  married." 

"You  might  have  asked  me,"  Bill  rejoined. 

"All  right.  I  'm  game.  I  won't  squeal,"  stoically 
declared  the  scion  of  the  house  of  Frothingham.  "  I  '11 
take  'em  out  to  supper." 

"I'm  sure  the  three  of  them  will  enjoy  it,"  Bill 
suggested. 

"You  mean  the  three  of  us,"  corrected  the  lieu 
tenant. 

"  No,  I  mean  the  three  of  them,"  and  Bill  explained 
to  him  that  the  young  girl  who  played  the  ingenue  part 
was  their  daughter,  who  always  accompanied  her 
parents  wherever  they  went. 

"  If  that 's  the  case,  I'd  better  invite  the  whole 
blooming  troupe,"  was  the  lieutenant's  sarcastic 
response. 

He  went  away  to  consult  his  mother,  while  Bill 
made  a  call  on  Mr.  Steelson.  The  star,  though  nearly 
threescore  years  of  age,  was  impersonating  Tony 
Lumpkin,  a  youth  of  twenty,  supposed  to  be  constantly 
bubbling  over  with  boyish  enthusiasm.  Mr.  Steelson, 
despite  his  years,  merged  his  own  solemn  personality  in 
the  part  so  completely  that  he  carried  an  exuberance  of 
spirit  to  his  dressing-room  between  the  acts.  On  this 
occasion  he  was  in  high  glee  as  Bill  entered. 

"Colonel  Frothingham 's  just  been  in  here,"  he 
chuckled,  "and  asked  me  to  make  a  speech  and  say 

[148] 


PLAYING    "SHE   STOOPS' 

something  nice  about  him  after  the  second  act.  Now, 
I  'm  no  orator,  but  I  '11  try  my  best,  just  to  oblige  him. 
After  the  second  act  is  the  right  time  for  a  speech 
because  we  always  get  a  big  curtain  call  then  in  this 
piece.  I  want  you  to  be  in  front  to  hear  me  orate." 

Bill  promised  the  star  he  would  listen  to  his  address. 
Returning  to  the  front  lobby  he  met  the  only  reporter 
of  the  only  paper  in  Fort  Benson.  When  Bill  told  him 
that  Mr.  Steelson  was  going  to  speak  to  the  audience, 
he  hustled  down  to  his  office  for  a  pad  of  copy  paper, 
returning  just  as  the  second  act  was  drawing  to  a  close. 
Dragging  a  table  and  a  chair  out  of  the  box-office,  he 
seated  himself  and  prepared  to  write  down  the  actor's 
remarks.  The  curtain  descended  at  the  end  of  the  act. 
The  newspaper  man  moistened  the  point  of  his  pencil 
on  his  lips,  adjusted  his  paper  pad,  and  held  the  tips  of 
his  fingers  of  his  left  hand  to  the  tip  of  his  left  ear  in  an 
expectant  attitude.  A  painful  silence  ensued. 

"Why  don't  he  come  out  and  speak?"  the  scribe 
asked  Bill. 

"  It  's  the  spectators'  fault,"  the  manager  replied. 
"  Why  don't  they  applaud  ?  "  Bill  glanced  toward  the 
Frothingham  box  and  noticed  that  the  colonel  had 
assumed  an  expression  eminently  appropriate  for  a  man 
who  expected  to  hear  himself  praised.  Still  there  was 
no  hand-clapping  to  bring  the  star  before  the  curtain. 
The  climax  of  the  act  which,  according  to  the  star, 
had  never  before  failed  to  evoke  round  after  round  of 

[149] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

applause,  did  not  appeal  in  the  slightest  degree  to  the 
phlegmatic  inhabitants  of  Fort  Benson.  Bill  tried  to 
start  the  hand-clapping,  with  the  result  that  everybody 
in  his  vicinity  stared  at  him  in  amazement.  In  his 
despair  he  hurried  back  on  the  stage. 

Some  stars,  disappointed  at  the  loss  of  a  curtain  call, 
would  have  vented  their  spleen  on  everybody  in  sight. 
Mr.  Steelson,  still  imbued  with  the  personality  of  rol 
licking  Tony  Lumpkin,  grinned  broadly  when  he  saw 
Bill,  and  winked  both  eyes  in  succession  to  evince 
his  amusement  still  further. 

"  Poor  Colonel  Frothingham,"  said  he  with  a  humor 
ous  groan.  "Poor  Colonel  Frothingham!  He  wanted 
me  to  tell  them  how  great  he  was,  and  they  did  n't 
give  me  the  chance.  What 's  the  matter  with  those 
folks  out  front,  anyway  ?  I  '11  bet  nine-tenths  of  them 
never  saw  a  play  before  in  their  lives.  Poor  Colonel 
Frothingham!  Let 's  try  to  get  a  look  at  him." 

They  peeped  out  through  the  corner  of  the  curtain, 
and  beheld  the  object  of  the  star's  sympathy  sitting 
dejectedly  in  the  box. 

"What  a  shame!"  laughed  Mr.  Steelson.  "Can't 
we  do  something  to  relieve  that  distress  ?  " 

Bill  hinted  that  he  might  be  able  to  work  up  a  call 
at  the  end  of  the  next  act,  if  the  star  would  be  ready  to 
go  right  out  and  speak. 

"Go  ahead,  by  all  means,"  acquiesced  the  actor. 

The  working-up   process   consisted   in   instructing 

[150] 


PLAYING     'SHE  STOOPS' 

the  ushers  to  station  themselves  in  various  parts  of  the 
theatre  and  applaud  for  all  they  were  worth  as  the 
curtain  fell.  This  artificial  enthusiasm,  combined 
with  the  manual  exertions  of  Bill  and  the  reporter, 
proved  infectious.  The  audience  applauded  so  gener 
ously  that  Mr.  Steelson  lost  no  time  in  making  his 
appearance  before  the  curtain.  There  was  more  hand- 
clapping  as  the  star  advanced  to  the  footlights. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  commenced,  "  I  must 
first  congratulate  you  on  this  beautiful  new  theatre. 
I  have  played  all  over  the  United  States,  and  I  can  say 
with  sincerity  there  is  no  place  of  amusement  in  the 
whole  country,  not  even  in  Broadway,  New  York  City, 
that  can  surpass  it.  Yes,  I  will  go  still  further,  and 
state  that  very  few  can  equal  it." 

As  he  made  this  broad,  sweeping  prevarication  every 
auditor  pounded  his  palms  vigorously  and  looked 
proudly  at  his  neighbor. 

Continuing  to  toy  with  the  truth,  the  speaker  said: 
"  I  must  also  congratulate  you  on  having  as  a  fellow- 
citizen  my  old  and  dear  friend,  Colonel  James  Phoenix 
Frothingham,  whose  self-sacrifice  and  devotion  to  your 
interests  have  caused  this  theatre  to  be  a  reality." 

Bill  hoped  for  Mr.  Steelson's  sake  that  the  audience 
did  not  notice  that  he  referred  to  Colonel  Frothing 
ham  as  James  instead  of  John,  a  mistake  hardly  con 
sistent  with  his  claim  of  old  and  dear  friendship. 

Unmindful  of  his  error,  he  went  on,  "It  was  on 

[151] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

account  of  my  desire  to  show  my  respect  for  my  old 
friend  that  I  came  to  assist  at  this  dedication." 

More  hearty  applause  from  the  auditors,  who  knew 
nothing  about  the  guarantee  exacted  for  the  appearance 
of  the  company. 

Concluding,  the  actor  said:  "I  trust  that  Colonel 
Frothingham  and  the  magnificent  opera  house  he  has 
erected  will  long  remain  with  you.  For  my  part,  if 
my  humble  efforts  to-night  to  entertain  you  have  been 
successful,  I  promise  to  make  a  return  visit  next  season 
for  the  same  consideration  —  I  mean,  the  same  con~ 
sideration  of  friendship  for  my  boyhood's  friend,  the 
colonel,  God  bless  him!" 

The  applause  which  the  peroration  evoked  was 
thunderous  and  long  continued.  Colonel  Frothingham, 
apparently  overcome  with  emotion  at  the  star's  refer 
ence  to  their  boyhood's  happy  days,  held  his  handker 
chief  to  his  eyes.  There  were  cries  for  him  to  take  the 
stage.  He  obeyed  the  summons,  and  came  before  the 
curtain  hand  in  hand  with  Mr.  Steelson.  It  was  a 
touching  sight  to  behold  the  two  life-long  friends,  who 
in  reality  had  never  met  each  other  until  that  evening, 
standing  before  an  innocent  audience  which  could 
hardly  control  its  excitement  over  the  inspiring  spec 
tacle.  Of  the  two,  Colonel  Frothingham  was  the  more 
visibly  affected,  though  Mr.  Steelson  was  not  far  behind 
in  the  emotional  display.  The  people  called  on  the 
colonel  for  a  speech.  He  stammered  a  sentence  or  two 

[152] 


'THERE  WAS  A  LOUD  CRASH,  AND  LADY  AND  TREE  WENT  OVER 
TOGETHER  " 


PLAYING     'SHE   STOOPS' 

to  the  effect  that  his  feelings  at  that  moment  could  not 
possibly  be  expressed,  then  he  broke  down,  shook  the 
actor's  hand  with  a  convulsive  grasp,  and  hurried  from 
view.  The  self-constituted  friend  of  his  boyhood  also 
retired,  while  the  orchestra  played  "  Auld  Lang  Syne." 
The  next  act  was  the  last.  Written  by  Mr.  Steel- 
son,  he  had  always  considered  it  the  most  amusing  in 
the  piece.  In  Fort  Benson  it  proved  to  be  more  effective 
than  ever  before  on  account  of  an  accident  that  hap 
pened  to  Mrs.  Jameson,  a  stout  lady,  who  for  several 
seasons  had  played  old  woman  roles  in  the  Steelson 
company.  The  scene  was  laid  in  a  wood.  In  the 
centre  stood  a  large  set  tree  with  a  bench  in  front.  The 
tree  in  previous  performances  had  been  fastened  so 
securely  with  stage  braces  that  when  Mrs.  Jameson  sat 
on  the  bench  and  leaned  against  the  painted  trunk  it 
had  easily  withstood  the  pressure.  Something  was 
decidedly  wrong  somewhere  when  the  actress  reached 
this  part  of  the  performance  in  Fort  Benson.  Either 
the  tree  itself  had  developed  a  weakness,  or  the  stage 
braces  had  been  imperfectly  placed  by  the  inexperi 
enced  hands  of  the  new  theatre,  for  when  the  rotund 
actress  sat  down  to  rest  her  shoulders  on  the  stage  oak, 
and  say,  wearily,  "Ah!  here  at  last  is  shelter  and 
repose,"  there  was  a  loud  crash,  and  the  lady  and  the 
tree  went  over  and  down  together.  The  spectators 
shrieked  their  approval.  There  was  not  a  person  in  the 
audience  who  did  not  believe  the  back  somersault  was 

[155] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

part  of  the  play.  So  many  ludicrous  situations  had 
occurred  in  the  comedy  it  seemed  perfectly  consistent 
for  Mrs.  Jameson  to  run  the  risk  of  concussion  of  the 
spine.  It  also  appeared  entirely  natural  to  the  spec 
tators  when  Mr.  Steelson  rushed  upon  the  stage  to  the 
actress's  assistance,  extemporizing,  "  My  good  woman, 
let  me  help  you."  The  star's  happy  thought  would 
have  worked  to  a  charm  if  he  could  have  extemporized 
sufficient  strength  at  the  same  time.  When  he  tried 
to  lift  the  two  hundred  and  fifty  odd  pounds  of  the 
overturned  Mrs.  Jameson,  his  force  was  so  inadequate 
that  the  brawny  carpenter  who  travelled  with  the 
company  hurried  to  aid  him.  Through  their  combined 
efforts  the  actress  was  raised  to  a  perpendicular  posi 
tion  and  assisted  from  the  stage,  while  the  spectators 
continued  in  convulsions  of  laughter,  firmly  convinced 
that  the  episode  was  the  climax  of  the  comedy. 

"It  beats  anything,"  a  woman  in  the  rear  row  said, 
"how  a  big  woman  can  throw  herself  around  like 
that  night  after  night  without  getting  hurt." 

Early  the  next  morning  the  Rupert  Steelson  Com 
pany  departed  from  Fort  Benson.  While  waiting  in 
the  depot  for  the  train  to  arrive,  Bill  noticed  that 
all  the  actors  and  actresses  were  on  hand  except  the 
ingenue. 

"Where  is  your  daughter?"  he  asked  the  leading 
lady. 

She  replied:  "Maud  is  having  a  stroll  with  young 

[156] 


PLAYING    "SHE   STOOPS' 

Frothingham.  He  took  the  three  of  us  out  to  supper 
last  night,  and  that  girl  of  mine  simply  monopolized 
him.  Ah,  there  they  come." 

The  lieutenant  was  carrying  her  satchel.  When 
the  train  arrived  he  assisted  her  on  board  and  found 
a  comfortable  seat  for  her  on  the  shady  side  of  the  car. 

Their  good-bye  was  protracted  and  slightly  pa 
thetic  for  so  brief  an  acquaintance.  As  the  train  left 
the  station  the  lieutenant  stood  despondently  on  the 
depot  platform  straining  his  eyes  for  a  last  glimpse  of 
the  ingenue,  who  kissed  her  hand  to  him  from  the  car 
window.  That  duty  performed,  the  young  actress 
took  writing  materials  from  her  satchel  and  commenced 
to  scribble  an  affectionate  letter  to  the  man  in  New 
York  to  whom  she  was  engaged. 


[157] 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  NEW  "OSRIC" 


"fT^RUETELL,"  said  the  star  as  the  train 

on  its  journey  to  the  next  stand,  "they  like 
me  in  Fort  Benson." 

"They  certainly  passed  you  the  glad  hand  last 
night,"  his  manager  returned. 

"When  I  play  there  next  season,"  Mr.  Steelson 
solemnly  announced,  "I  will  do  the  Dane." 

Bill  gave  a  slight  start  and  looked  doubtfully  at 
the  actor. 

"Yes,"  continued  the  star,  even  more  solemnly 
than  before,  "I  will  do  the  Dane." 

"  What  has  the  Dane  done  to  you  ?  "  was  Bill's  in 
nocent  query. 

Mr.  Steelson  had  nought  but  pity  for  a  man  who 
could  propound  such  a  question.  "The  Dane  is 
Hamlet,"  he  explained. 

Bill  laughed  heartily  at  his  own  blunder. 

"By  the  way,"  the  star  went  on.  "We  give  them 
the  Moor  to-night,  don't  we  ?  " 

"No,  sir.     'Othello.'" 

"Same  thing.  I  forget  you  are  serving  your 
novitiate  at  the  shrine  of  the  Bard/' 

[158] 


THE  NEW    "OSRIC' 

"You  've  got  me  guessing  again,"  the  unsophis 
ticated  manager  confessed.  "  What 's  the  Bard  ?  " 

"You  don't  mean  to  admit  you  never  heard  of 
the  Bard  —  the  Bard  of  Avon  ?  " 

Bill's  face  brightened.  "I've  played  Avon,"  said 
he.  "It 's  a  fine  little  tank  near  Boston." 

Mr.  Steelson  shook  his  head  despairingly.  "  Let 's 
change  the  subject.  Have  you  the  repertoire  for  the 
week?" 

He  was  handed  the  sheet  of  paper  on  which  the 
list  of  plays  was  written,  and  he  studied  it  intently. 

"That's  good!"  he  remarked,  "I  do  not  do  the 
Dane  until  Saturday  in  Bostwick.  I  'm  glad  of  that, 
for  the  piece  needs  more  rehearsing,  and  Ranston  will 
be  in  front  to  criticise." 

"  Ranston  the  playwright  ?  " 

"Ranston  the  alleged  playwright,"  corrected  the 
star.  "  He  imagines  he  's  greater  than  Shakespeare. 
He  wants  to  write  a  play  for  me.  He  says  that  Shake 
speare  has  not  done  me  justice  and  I  will  never  succeed 
financially  until  I  put  on  one  of  his  melodramas." 

"Maybe  he  's  right,"  Bill  ventured  to  suggest,  re 
calling  the  forty-five  cents  that  had  represented  the  sum 
total  of  the  actor's  savings  at  their  meeting  in  Battery 
Park. 

Mr.  Steelson  chided  him  for  the  observation. 
"  Don't  say  that.  It 's  sacrilegious  to  mention  Ran 
ston  and  Shakespeare  in  the  same  breath. 

[159] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

"And  after  all,"  resumed  the  star,  gracefully 
flicking  a  stray  lock  of  his  wig  from  his  forehead  and 
straightening  himself  in  his  seat  while  his  features 
shone  with  glowing  inspiration.  "After  all,  what  is 
financial  compared  with  artistic  success  ?  " 

Bill  made  rejoinder,  "Just  the  difference  between 
riding  in  a  Pullman  and  counting  the  ties." 

He  had  not  intended  to  inflict  any  suffering  by 
the  comparison,  but  the  blow  was  cruel,  and  it  struck 
home. 

His  histrionic  companion  turned  to  him  quickly, 
showing  a  countenance  suddenly  stamped  with  utter 
sadness. 

"Nothing  personal  intended,  I  hope,  Truetell," 
he  said,  in  a  voice  betraying  infinitely  more  sorrow 
than  anger. 

"  Why,  of  course  not,"  was  Bill's  prompt  assurance. 

"  You  know  —  "  the  star  as  he  spoke  made  a  throat 
movement,  as  if  swallowing  a  rising  tide  of  emotion, 
"there  have  been  occasions  in  the  career  of  nearly 
every  great  artist  when  he  and  the  —  the  —  the  ties 
have  not  been  entire  strangers,  but  such  occasions 
must  lie  buried  in  the  vault  of  dead  memories." 

The  star  slowly  shut  his  eyes,  rested  his  head 
on  the  back  of  his  seat,  and  his  face  assumed  the 
rigidity  of  a  death-mask. 

He  remained  for  a  full  quarter  of  an  hour  in 
a  darkly  retrospective  state,  until  the  cheerful,  mer- 

[160] 


THE   NEW    "OSRIC9 

curial  angel  who  watches  over  the  children  of  Thespis 
came  to  his  aid  and  put  the  gloomy  spirit  to  flight. 

Conversation  between  the  two  men  was  resumed, 
and  once  more  the  subject  of  "Hamlet"  was  taken 
up,  and  the  necessity  of  further  rehearsals  discussed. 

"Are  you  satisfied  with  the  cast?"    Bill  inquired. 

"The  women  are  all  right,"  responded  Mr.  Steel- 
son,  "because  they  have  been  with  me  for  several 
seasons,  though  I  must  admit  Mrs.  Jameson  has  grown 
too  stout  for  the  Player  Queen.  Fortunately,  the 
audience  only  sees  little  of  her  —  I  mean,  she  is  on  in 
but  one  act.  Smolton  is  the  best  Ghost  I  ever  had, 
and  Henley  is  the  funniest  Gravedigger  in  the  business. 
In  fact,  I  can  find  little  fault  with  any  of  the  male 
characters  except  Osric.  Hunt  is  simply  impossible  in 
the  role.  We  must  let  him  go  and  get  a  new  Osric." 

Bill,  viewing  the  subject  from  an  economical  point 
of  view,  asked :  "  Could  n't  you  double  one  of  the  other 
characters  in  the  part  ?  " 

Mr.  Steelson  decisively  shook  his  head.  "To 
keep  down  expenses,"  he  said,  "I  have  doubled  and 
even  trebled  the  people  beyond  all  rules  and  traditions, 
but  I  must  draw  the  line  on  one  actor  playing  two  char 
acters  that  are  required  to  be  on  the  stage  at  the  same 
time.  Besides,  Hunt  is  not  suited  temperamentally. 
Osric  is  an  effeminate  person,  and  should  really  be 
played  by  a  woman.  All  the  great  English  Hamlets 
had  female  Osrics." 

[161] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

"I  have  it!"  exclaimed  Bill,  who  had  been  an  in 
terested  spectator  of  the  *  *  Hamlet ' '  rehearsals.  "  Ophe 
lia  's  drowned  earlier  in  the  shuffle.  She  can  easily 
double  with  Osric.  There  you  are!" 

"A  very  good  suggestion.  You  can  notify  Miss 
Wentworth  to  commence  studying  Osric  at  once." 

The  actor's  eyes  twinkled  as  they  followed  Bill 
down  the  aisle  to  the  seat  tenanted  by  the  leading  lady 
and  her  pet  poodle. 

"Sir,  how  dare  you!"  she  cried  indignantly  when 
he  explained  his  mission.  "  Ophelia  double  with  Osric ! 
Me,  carried  in  on  a  bier  in  one  act  and  frisking  round 
in  tights  in  the  next  ?  You  are  not  running  a  cheap 
burlesque  show,  now,  Mr.  Truetell.  How  dare  you  ?  " 

The  manager  attempted  a  quiet  explanation :  "  Mr. 
Steelson  asked  me  to  speak  to  you  and  —  " 

"  Oh !  Mr.  Steelson  wants  me  to  double  Osric  does 
he!  Where  is  he?" 

The  actress  arose  defiantly  and  looked  up  and 
down  the  car,  her  poodle  meanwhile  barking  loudly 
at  pill  to  attest  his  sympathy  for  his  insulted  mistress. 
When  she  caught  sight  of  the  star  and  noticed  his 
highly  amused  expression,  she  appreciated  his  little 
joke,  resuming  her  mental  composure  and  her  seat 
simultaneously. 

"  I  guess  I  'm  pretty  green  in  this  Shakespearian 
game,"  confided  Bill,  after  he  had  returned  to  his  place 
at  Mr.  Steelson's  side. 

[162] 


THE   NEW    "OSRIC' 

"  We  must  have  a  little  comedy  now  and  then  in  the 
tragedy  of  life,  Truetell." 

"  You  fooled  me  for  fair,  Mr.  Steelson.  I  honestly 
thought  you  needed  an  Osric." 

"I  do,"  the  star  replied  with  seriousness.  "We 
ought  to  put  somebody  in  rehearsal  right  away.  Hunt 
will  ruin  the  play  if  he  goes  on  Saturday." 

"  And  you  prefer  a  girl  ?  "  asked  Bill,  a  happy  idea 
coming  to  him. 

"Yes.     Have  you  anybody  in  mind?"  \ 

"Just  the  one  you  need." 

"Can  she  play  the  part?" 

"Play  it?     She  can  eat  it." 

"All  right.  Engage  her  at  once.  Wire  from  the 
next  stand." 

The  following  message  was  sent  upon  the  arrival 
of  the  train  in  Peabody: 

ELSIE  VAN  BALKEN, 

CARE  ACTORS'  SOCIETY,  NEW  YORK  CITY. 
You  are  engaged  for  Osric  in  Hamlet.     Report  for 
rehearsals  Dalton,  Pennsylvania,  to-morrow.     You  must 
wear  tights.  TRUETELL. 

After  filing  the  telegram,  Bill  immediately  was  seized 
with  many  fears,  all  of  which  presaged  the  failure  of  his 
anxious  desire  to  make  the  girl  a  member  of  the  com 
pany.  To  begin  with,  the  chances  were  against  her 
receiving  the  message  at  all.  He  had  neglected  to  ob 
tain  her  home  address  when  she  called  at  his  office,  and 

[163] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

he  was  not  sure  that  she  was  on  the  membership  list  of 
the  Actors'  Society.  It  was  a  fortnight  since  he  had 
seen  her.  In  the  interval  she  had  probably  accepted 
another  engagement.  Such  talent  as  she  possessed 
would  not  remain  long  unemployed.  But  if  she  was 
still  disengaged  and  his  message  reached  her  safely,  an 
objection,  which  in  Bill's  imagination  loomed  up  as  an 
insurmountable  obstacle,  stood  between  her  and  her 
acceptance  of  this  particular  role.  His  reference  in  his 
telegram  to  Osric's  costume  was  made  advisedly  and 
with  the  most  chivalrous  intentions.  Knowing  the 
girl's  naturally  timid  disposition,  he  believed  she  would 
not  consent  to  appear  in  boy's  attire,  but  he  considered 
himself  in  honor  bound  to  notify  her  in  advance  what 
she  was  expected  to  wear,  even  though  the  notification 
should  be  the  cause  of  her  rejection  of  the  offer.  It 
would  be  unmanly  and  unfair  to  induce  her  to  join  the 
company,  only  to  confront  her  point-blank  with  this 
vitally  important  matter. 

All  of  Bill's  fears  and  delicate  scruples  on  the  cos 
tume  subject  were  set  at  rest  when  the  reply  was 
handed  to  him. 

WILLIAM  TRUETELL, 

MANAGER  STEELSON  COMPANY,  PEABODY,  PA. 
Thanks  for  engagement.     Will  leave  first  train  to 
morrow.    Me  for  the  tights.       ELSIE  VAN   BALKEN. 

Bill  met  the  train  that  carried  the  new  member  to 
Dalton. 

[  164] 


THE   NEW    "OSRIC9 

"  This  is  a  gamble  I  've  taken  with  you,"  he  said, 
when  they  had  shaken  hands,  "  and  you  've  got  to 
make  good  to  square  me.  Pillsbury,  the  stage  manager, 
will  give  you  the  part  at  rehearsal  this  afternoon. 
Study  it  good  and  plenty." 

She  pulled  a  yellow-covered  paper  book  from  her 
tiny  muff,  and  waved  it  proudly  before  Bill's  eyes. 

"What's  that?" 

" '  Hamlet.'  I  bought  it  for  fifteen  cents  in  a  second 
hand  book-store." 

"  Have  you  been  memorizing  the  lines  ?  " 

"I  know  'em  backwards." 

"Elsie,  they  don't  make  them  like  you  every  day." 

"And  I  don't  know  many  like  you,  Mr.  Truetell." 

"  Quit  your  kiddin',  kid." 

He  took  her  satchel,  a  battered  relic  of  "  The  Gay 
Gothamites'  "  struggles,  and  led  the  way  to  the  hotel 
situated  right  across  the  street. 

"Give  this  young  lady  a  nice  sunny  room  with 
bath,"  he  sternly  commanded  the  clerk,  after  carefully 
signing  her  name  to  the  register. 

"  A  sunny  room  ?  "  interrogated  the  clerk. 

"That's  what  I  said." 

"You  probably  did  n't  notice  the  stormy  weather," 
suggested  the  man  behind  the  desk.  "  It  's  been  rain 
ing  steadily  here  for  three  days." 

"No,  I  didn't  notice  the  weather,"  returned  Bill, 
beaming  on  the  little  Van  Balken.  "You  can  cut  the 

[165] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

sun  out  of  the  order,  and  give  her  a  nice  room  with 
bath." 

"There  isn't  a  bath  in  the  town,  sir." 

Although  there  was  a  dominant  note  of  pride  in  the 
clerk's  voice,  Bill  was  tempted  to  question  the  truth 
of  his  assertion,  but  he  thought  better  of  it. 

"Well,  then,"  he  said,  "make  her  as  comfortable 
as  you  can." 

A  rehearsal  of  "  Hamlet "  was  called  that  afternoon 
on  the  stage  of  the  Dalton  Grand  Academy  of  Music, 
a  building  far  less  imposing  than  its  name. 

In  the  absence  of  Mr.  Steelson,  confined  to  his 
room  by  a  cold,  Pillsbury,  the  stage  manager,  sat  in 
the  director's  chair.  Away  from  the  theatre  Pillsbury 
was  one  of  the  most  genial  of  men.  While  directing 
rehearsals  his  overbearing  manners  and  tyrannous 
conduct  made  him  unique  even  among  the  gentlemen 
of  his  calling,  none  of  whom  have  ever  been  noted  for 
an  excess  of  Chesterfieldian  courtesy  while  engaged 
in  the  performance  of  their  duties. 

All  the  members  of  the  company  were  in  attendance 
except  Miss  Van  Balken.  Bill,  who  had  come  to  the 
theatre  early  to  superintend  the  disposition  of  the 
scenery,  cast  many  anxious  glances  at  the  stage  door. 
It  was  two  o'clock,  the  appointed  hour  of  the  rehearsal, 
and  the  new  "  Osric  "  had  not  arrived.  The  actors  and 
actresses  formed  in  little  expectant  groups  about  the 
stage.  Pillsbury  took  out  his  watch  and  fidgeted  in 

[166] 


THE  NEW    "OSRIC' 

his  chair.    Clouds  gathered  on  his  brow,  and  everybody 
knew  a  storm  was  brewing.      When  at  last  the  stage 


'"You 'BE  FIVE  MINUTES  LATE,'  HE  GROWLED" 

door  slowly  opened  and  the  little  Van  Balken  appeared, 
Pillsbury  loudly  called,   "Is  that  the  new  'Osric'?" 
The  belated  actress  feebly  responded,  "Yes,  sir," 
and  timidly  approached  the  stage  manager. 

[167] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

He  glared  at  the  face  of  his  watch,  and  then  bestowed 
a  more  threatening  glance  at  the  face  of  the  frightened 
newcomer. 

"You're  five  minutes  late,"  he  growled;  "this  is 
a  pretty  bad  start  for  a  new  member." 

"If  you  please,  sir,"  apologized  the  girl,  "I  'd  have 
been  here  on  time  but  the  car  from  the  hotel  was 
blocked,  and  - 

"I  accept  no  excuses,"  was  his  stern  interruption. 
"If  it  happens  again  I  '11  fine  you." 

Bill  from  a  position  near  the  proscenium  arch  had 
been  a  sympathetic  witness  of  the  scene.  The  agony 
he  endured  was  as  great,  if  possible  greater,  than  the 
suffering  of  his  little  protegee,  standing  crestfallen  and 
humiliated  before  the  tyrant  Pillsbury.  An  impulse 
seized  Bill  to  rush  to  her  assistance,  strike  down  the 
stage  manager,  take  the  girl  in  his  arms,  and  proclaim 
before  the  whole  company  that  nobody  could  deal 
harshly  with  her  while  he  was  by. 

He  did  not  act  on  the  impulse.  He  hesitated  for 
a  moment  only,  and  lost  the  golden  opportunity  of  his 
life.  Another  threw  his  gauntlet  into  the  lists  as  her 
champion. 

Dodd,  the  juvenile  man,  a  slight,  fair-haired  youth, 
jumped  up  from  the  trunk  on  which  he  had  been  sitting, 
and  boldly  said, 

"  That 's  right  about  the  car  block,  Mr.  Pillsbury. 
I  had  trouble  getting  here  myself." 

[168] 


THE   NEW    "OSRIC' 

"  You  '11  have  no  trouble  getting  away  from  here  if 
you  don't  mind  your  own  business,"  roared  the  director. 

Dodd,  the  juvenile  man,  resumed  his  seat. 

"And  now  that  we  're  all  here  —  at  last,"  Pillsbury 
sarcastically  announced,  with  coldly  significant  glances 
at  the  little  Van  Balken  and  her  juvenile  defender, 
"we  '11  begin  to  rehearse." 

Bill  left  his  position  near  the  proscenium  arch  and 
walked  to  the  stage  door.  He  had  no  desire  to  remain 
for  the  rehearsal.  He  had  seen  his  position  as  pro 
tector  of  the  little  Van  Balken  suddenly  usurped 
through  his  own  fatal  hesitancy.  He  had  seen  the 
look  of  gratitude  that  Dodd  received  as  his  reward 
when  he  arose  in  her  defence.  He  had  seen  her  sweet 
expression  of  sympathy  when  the  young  actor  in  turn 
was  crushed  by  the  stage  manager.  In  the  eyes  of  the 
company  Dodd  was  a  squelched  young  upstart,  but  in 
the  eyes  of  the  girl  he  must  stand  as  a  hero.  He,  at 
least,  had  dared  try  to  shield  her  in  her  helplessness 
while  Bill  had  hesitated.  Now  it  was  too  late.  The 
golden  opportunity  would  never  come  again,  and  the 
little  Van  Balken  was  lost  to  him  forever. 

This  was  his  heartrending  conviction  as  he  left 
the  Dalton  Grand  Academy  of  Music;  a  two  hours' 
walk  about  the  muddy  streets  of  the  town  did  not  alter 
it.  For  all  that  time  a  green-eyed  monster,  celebrated 
in  song  and  story,  bore  him  close  company. 

[169] 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  RIVAL  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

ELTON  RANSTON,  self-constituted  rival  of 
William  Shakespeare,  was  Bostwick's  most 
conspicuous  citizen,  and  his  reputation  was  by 
no  means  confined  to  the  limits  of  his  home  town. 
Flashily  colored  lithographs  depicting  scenes  in  plays 
from  his  lurid  pen  carried  his  name  and  fame  to  every 
one-night  stand  in  the  country.  Wherever  a  high  or 
even  an  ordinary  degree  of  intelligence  existed  among 
theatre-goers,  the  Ranston  productions  failed  of  appre 
ciation,  but  the  discrimination  of  audiences  never  fur 
nished  him  cause  for  the  faintest  regret.  According  to 
his  self-centred  view,  the  people  who  did  not  relish 
his  plays  deserved  pity  rather  than  censure.  If  they 
did  not  possess  the  brand  of  mentality  capable  of  grasp 
ing  the  significance  of  his  wonderful  creations,  the 
fault  and  the  loss  were  theirs,  not  his.  Some  day  they 
might  reach  the  lofty  peak  on  which  he  stood,  but  in 
the  meantime  he  could  not  wait  for  their  minds  to  ripen. 
He  had  a  vast  mission  to  perform  on  that  portion  of  the 
earth's  surface  circumscribed  by  the  boundary  lines  of 
the  United  States.  The  great,  low-browed,  amusement- 
loving  public  hungered  for  at  least  six  new  Ranston 

[170] 


RIVAL   OF  SHAKESPEARE 

dramas  every  season.  To  a  magnanimous  desire  to 
satisfy  this  craving,  the  author  had  devoted  himself 
for  several  years  with  unremitting  vigor  and  heroic 
persistence.  Never  for  a  moment  had  his  unselfish 
brain  harbored  a  temptation  to  disappoint  his  legion  of 
admirers,  nor,  incidentally,  to  interrupt  the  current  of 
royalties  that  flowed  steadily  to  his  account  in  the  Bost- 
wick  Savings  Bank. 

The  playwright's  residence  typified  the  material 
prosperity  that  followed  as  a  fruit  of  his  genius.  It  was 
a  large,  showy,  Queen  Anne  sort  of  structure,  situated 
in  a  fashionable  suburb  of  the  town.  Surrounding  the 
house  a  closely  cropped,  velvety  lawn  sloped  in  easy 
gradations  to  the  street,  where  a  high  iron  fence  of 
ornamental  design  guarded  the  august  personage  and 
his  household  gods  from  the  intrusion  of  the  curious 
sightseer.  The  gate  was  flanked  by  two  stone  pillars, 
on  each  of  which  a  rampant  marble  lion  did  ceaseless 
sentinel  duty. 

Mr.  Steelson  and  Bill  paused  for  a  moment  before 
the  imposing  entrance.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon 
following  the  arrival  of  the  troupe  in  Bostwick,  and  the 
star  and  his  manager  had  come  to  pay  their  respects 
to  Mr.  Ranston.  Mr.  Steelson,  who  had  visited  the 
author  on  former  engagements  in  Bostwick,  was  pre 
pared  for  the  luxurious  display  that  confronted  them. 
Bill,  on  his  maiden  pilgrimage  to  the  sacred  Ranston 
precincts,  could  not  restrain  his  wonderment. 

[m] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

"  I  '11  bet  Shakespeare  could  n't  boast  of  a  joint  like 
this!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Shakespeare  was  not  a  boaster  in  any  sense,"  was 
his  companion's  mild  reproof.  "  Ah,  there  's  Ranston 
on  the  piazza.  Let  us  go  in." 

The  composer  of  sixty  plays  was  seated  in  a  very 
serious  attitude  in  a  very  light  wicker  rocker.  He 
was  not  alone.  At  his  right  were  his  wife  and  his  wife's 
mother,  neither  of  whom  apparently  shared  his  serious 
tendency.  Judging  by  external  evidence,  these  ladies 
were  engaged  in  a  continuous  smiling  contest.  When 
not  smiling  at  each  other,  it  was  their  custom  to  smile  at 
anybody  within  range.  Upon  the  appearance,  there 
fore,  of  the  two  visitors,  they  turned  their  batteries  on 
them,  maintaining  a  perfect  fusillade  of  smiles  as  they 
came  up  the  white  gravel  walk. 

Mr.  Ranston,  whose  seriousness  increased  with 
the  approach  of  the  men,  rose  to  greet  them.  His 
rising  was  not  performed  in  a  single  movement.  That 
would  have  been  inconsistent  with  his  extreme  dignity 
and  his  extreme  height  of  six  feet  and  six  inches.  He 
arose,  as  it  were,  on  the  instalment  plan,  and  when 
the  various  sections  of  his  figure  were  at  last  in  a 
perpendicular  position  he  held  his  hand  out  to  the 
star  and  said,  with  no  vestige  of  pleasure  on  his  weasel 
face: 

"  I  'm  pleased  to  see  you,  Steelson,  pleased  to  see 
you." 

[172] 


RIVAL  OF   SHAKESPEARE 

The  star  cordially  exchanged  salutations  with  the 
family  group  and  introduced  his  manager. 

"  I  'm  pleased  to  meet  you,  Truetell,   pleased  to 


** '  I  'M  PLEASED  TO  SEE  You,  PLEASED  TO  SEE  You ' ' 

meet  you,"  and  the  writer  scowled  malignantly  at  the 
manager. 

"  He 's  a  joy  slayer,  all  right,"  thought  Bill.     "  Won- 

[173] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

der  how  he  'd  act  if  we  came  while  he  was  having 
dinner.  He  looks  like  a  stingy  employer  on  pay 
day." 

"I  sha'n't  ask  you  to  sit  down  here,  Steelson,"  said 
this  genial  host.  "  You  come  into  my  den  and  we  '11 
talk  shop.  Truetell  will  be  safe  with  the  ladies  until 
we  return.  Take  my  seat,  Truetell." 

The  star  accepted  the  invitation,  and  Bill,  taking 
the  light  wicker  rocker,  soon  found  himself  hors  de 
combat  with  the  smiling  ladies.  Conversation  did  not 
begin  immediately.  Mrs.  Ranston  and  her  mother, 
discovering  in  Bill  a  splendid  target  for  their  facial 
manifestations,  took  every  possible  advantage  of  the 
opportunity.  Past  mistresses  of  the  art  of  smiling, 
they  levelled  at  him  such  a  variety  of  winning  expres 
sions  that  the  manager  gallantly  believed  it  to  be  his 
duty  to  reciprocate.  He  accordingly  twisted  his  features 
into  a  succession  of  weird  grins  and  grimaces  intended 
to  denote  boundless  delight. 

The  merry  battle  of  smiles  went  on  between  them 
until  Bill,  fearing  his  face  might  never  resume  its  origi 
nal  shape,  yielded  the  palm  to  his  fair  hostesses  and 
started  to  talk. 

"This  is  a  very  nice  place  you  have  here." 

"Yes,  it 's  pretty  nice  now,"  Mrs.  Ranston  replied 
iii  an  animated  manner;  "  but  I  intend  to  make  several 
improvements  —  just  as  soon  as  mother  dies.  For 
one  thing,  I  'm  going  to  have  the  piazza  altered.  It 

[174] 


RIVAL  OF   SHAKESPEARE 

is  n't  wide  enough,  and  the  steps  leading  to  the  lawn 
should  be  more  gradual. 

"I  don't  want  to  muss  up  things  now  and  disturb 
dear  mother,"  continued  Mrs.  Ranston,  fondly  patting 
her  parent's  aged  cheek,  "  but  work  will  begin  at  once  — 
just  as  soon  as  she  dies." 

If  Mrs.  Ranston  had  been  discussing  the  probability 
of  her  mother's  taking  a  holiday  trip  to  Europe  she 
could  not  have  alluded  to  the  event  in  a  more  cheerful 
strain.  She  looked  with  tender  affection  at  the  elder 
lady,  who,  on  her  part,  appeared  duly  grateful  for  Mrs. 
Ranston's  considerate  delay  in  the  contemplated  im 
provements.  The  mother  affectionately  returned  the 
caresses,  and  though  she  spoke  no  word  of  thanks, 
there  was  pathetic  eloquence  in  the  maternal  pride 
that  beamed  from  her  kindly  old  face. 

"The  walls  of  the  house  need  freshening,  too," 
Mrs.  Ranston  cheerily  resumed,  "and  the  painters 
will  start  work  —  just  as  soon  as  mother  dies.  Mother 
does  n't  like  the  smell  of  paint,  and  I  would  n't  have 
her  annoyed  for  worlds  —  while  she  lives.  Don't  you 
think  I  'm  right,  Mr.  Truetell  ? " 

Mr.  Truetell's  truthful  opinion  of  Mrs.  Ranston 
would  have  furnished  her  with  food  for  a  long  period 
of  serious  reflection.  He  was  wondering  what  com 
plimentary  form  his  answer  should  take,  when  he  heard 
a  familiar  voice  raised  loudly  and  angrily  inside  the 
residence.  Making  a  hurried  excuse  to  the  ladies,  Bill 

[175] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

entered  the  house,  and  following  the  sound  of  the  voice, 
he  quickly  reached  the  den  in  an  upper  story.  There 
he  discovered  the  playwright  in  a  defiant  attitude  in  the 
centre  of  the  room  gesticulating  in  his  wildest  manner, 
declaiming  in  his  shrillest  pitch,  and  towering  in  his 
rage  so  much  above  his  usual  height,  that  his  head  and 
the  ceiling  seemed  to  be  in  imminent  danger  of  coming 
into  contact.  Mr.  Steelson,  standing  quietly  a  few  feet 
distant,  was  evidently  regarding  the  author's  display 
of  passion  from  a  comedy  point  of  view.  Both  men 
were  facing  a  picture  suspended  from  the  opposite  wall. 

It  was  a  large  sketch  in  black  and  white  representing 
two  valiant  gentlemen  engaged  in  a  duel  and  fighting 
with  long  pens  instead  of  swords.  One  of  the  con 
testants  bore  a  strong  likeness  to  Elton  Ranston.  The 
other  was  patterned  after  the  accepted  portrait  of 
William  Shakespeare.  The  contest  was  spirited, 
though  the  advantage  appeared  altogether  on  the  side 
of  the  pride  of  Bostwick. 

Underneath  the  picture  was  this  suggestive  in 
scription  : 

"RANSTON   AND  SHAKESPEARE  ENGAGED  IN  A  FRIENDLY 
TILT  FOR  IMMORTALITY'* 

"What 's  the  trouble?"    Bill  anxiously  inquired. 
The  star  pointed  to  the  sketch  on  the  wall.     "  He 
does  n't  want  me  to  laugh  at  that  joke." 

[176] 


RIVAL   OF   SHAKESPEARE 

"  Joke ! "  shouted  the  playwright,  in  another  burst 
of  indignation.  "You  are  going  too  far!" 

Mr.  Steelson  persisted.  "  Why,  certainly  it 's  a  joke. 
But  I  '11  leave  the  question  to  a  third  person's  judgment. 
Isn't  it  a  joke,  Truetell?" 

"Gentlemen,"  pleaded  Bill,  "please  don't  put  it  up 
to  me." 

The  wrath  of  Ranston  showed  no  signs  of  abating. 
"You  always  had  a  strange  way  of  looking  at  things, 
Steelson,"  he  complained  with  bitterness. 

"  Such  things  as  that,"  retorted  the  actor,  pointing 
to  the  picture,  "  would  distort  anybody's  vision.  Whose 
idea  was  it,  anyway  ?  " 

"  My  own,"  was  the  playwright's  proud  reply.  "  The 
artist  on  the  Bostwick  '  Leader '  made  the  sketch  for  an 
engraving  on  my  letter- heads." 

"  Let  me  have  one,"  requested  the  star. 

"For  what  purpose?" 

"I  want  to  send  it  to  some  funny  paper." 

"Steelson,  you  will  make  me  forget  that  this  is  my 
house." 

The  star  laughed  heartily.  "Don't  use  that  stock 
phrase,  Ranston.  Keep  it  for  your  next  melodrama." 

The  infuriated  author  took  a  step  nearer  the  star, 
and  the  affair  might  have  assumed  a  really  belligerent 
aspect  if  Bill  had  not  decided  it  was  time  for  him  to  in 
tervene  and  play  the  role  of  peacemaker.  He  assured 

[177] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

the  aggrieved  Ranston  that  their  purpose  in  visiting  him 
was  not  to  incite  a  quarrel,  but  to  invite  him  personally 
to  attend  the  performance  that  night  at  the  theatre. 
This  assurance  and  the  invitation  had  a  quieting  effect, 
and  when  the  diplomatic  manager  produced  the 
tickets  for  a  stage  box  and  handed  them  to  the  play 
wright,  all  his  resentment  vanished. 

"What  do  you  give  them  to-night,  Steelson?"  he 
asked. 

"I  shall  give  them  the  Dane." 

The  spirit  of  dramatic  rivalry  made  answer  from  its 
permanent  lodgment  in  Ranston's  breast: 

"Well,  there  are  some  good  things  in  'Hamlet,* 
but  I  can  prove  to  you  that  Shakespeare  was  all  wrong 
in  the  basic  construction  of  the  play.  He  did  n't  — ' 

"You  can't  prove  it  now,  Ranston,"  broke  in  the 
star  good-naturedly,  "for  we  must  hurry  away  to  get 
ready  for  to-night's  performance.  Please  excuse  us." 

They  shook  hands  with  the  great  man  and  left  his 
house,  after  pausing  for  a  moment  on  the  piazza  to  pay 
their  parting  compliments  to  the  two  ladies,  whose 
faces  were  still  wreathed  and  festooned  in  smiles. 

On  the  road  to  the  hotel  the  star  grew  more  and 
more  serious  as  he  contemplated  the  task  on  hand  for 
that  evening. 

"The  first  performance  of  the  Dane  this  season 
and  Ranston  in  front.  To-night 's  the  night,"  he 
gravely  said. 

[178] 


RIVAL  OF   SHAKESPEARE 

"  To-night 's  the  night/'  the  manager  echoed, 
though  his  anticipations  did  not  concern  themselves 
at  that  moment  with  either  the  initial  representation 
of  the  play  or  the  critical  Ranston.  Bill  was  wondering 
how  the  little  Van  Balken,  attired  in  skirtless  costume, 
would  make  her  first  Shakespearian  plunge. 


[179] 


CHAPTER  XVII 

DOING  THE  DANE 

WHEN  the  grave  Mr.  Ranston  and  his  sun 
shiny  kinswomen  arrived  at  the  theatre 
that  evening,  the  members  of  the  orchestra, 
following  a  time-honored  country  custom,  were  reli 
giously  employed  in  extracting  from  their  instruments 
a  nerve-racking  selection  of  squawking  and  decidedly 
irreligious  sounds  preparatory  to  the  regular  overture. 
The  playwright  imperiously  waved  the  two  ladies  to 
chairs  in  the  rear  of  the  private  box,  and  seated  himself 
directly  in  front  of  them.  Thus,  practically  alone  and 
with  an  unhampered  view  of  the  stage,  he  prepared 
himself  to  deal  fairly  with  the  merits  or  demerits  of 
"Hamlet"  as  they  presented  themselves  to  his  expert 
attention.  His  preliminary  attitude  toward  the  au 
thor  of  the  play  was  hardly  that  of  a  rival  playwright. 
He  appeared  to  be  animated  with  a  feeling  of  friendly 
condescension.  Before  the  curtain  went  up  he  delib 
erately  turned  to  the  audience  with  an  expression  on 
his  face  that  seemed  to  say :  "  I  do  not  bear  any  per 
sonal  grudge  against  this  man  Shakespeare.  I  am 
here  to  see  his  play  in  the  same  cordial  spirit  in  which 

[180] 


DOING   THE  DANE 

I  would  expect  him  to  witness  one  of  mine  if  he  had 
not  died  several  centuries  before  my  coming.  I  hope 
he  will  merit  your  applause.  Treat  him  kindly  for 
my  sake." 

The  curtain  not  rising  at  the  appointed  time,  Bin* 
left  his  post  at  the  door  of  the  theatre  and  went  behind 
the  scenes,  where  he  beheld  the  usual  confusion  and 
disorder  incidental  to  first-night  performances. 

Stage  hands  were  rushing  hither  and  thither  bearing 
sections  of  faded,  patchy  canvas,  soon  to  take  definite 
form  and  be  revealed  as  the  solid,  palatial  domicile  of 
King  Claudius  to  the  people  before  the  curtain,  who 
would  accept  the  revelation  in  good  faith,  provided  there 
was  no  limit  to  their  powers  of  imagination.  Property- 
men  were  dashing  on  the  stage  with  ornaments  and 
articles  of  furniture,  presumably  very  ancient  and  very 
Danish,  but  really  very  modern  and  very  Bostwickian. 
Intermingling  with  the  busy  crew  of  workmen,  with 
apparently  no  purpose  save  to  get  in  their  way  and 
impede  the  progress  of  their  labors,  the  artists  stalked 
about,  habited  in  the  finery  of  the  court  of  Denmark. 

Behind  a  wall  of  Elsinore  Castle,  Bill  saw  a  young 
actor  pacing  nervously  up  and  down  while  he  repeated 
his  lines.  He  wore  a  tightly  fitting  costume  of  scarlet 
and  gold,  and  a  hat  jauntily  set  on  his  curly  wig.  There 
was  a  combination  of  impudence  and  demureness 
about  the  youth  that  attracted  the  manager.  He 
paused,  and  the  second  glance  disclosed  the  identity 

[181] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

of  the  little  Van  Balken.  The  sight  of  her  drove  from 
his  mind  every  feeling  of  jealousy  for  the  juvenile  man, 
leaving  only  sincere  admiration  unalloyed.  The  girl's 
slender  proportions  lent  themselves  appropriately  to 
the  role  of  the  youthful  male  courtier,  but  her  daintily 
feminine  lines  remained  symmetrically  in  evidence  to 
add  charm  and  beauty  to  the  picture.  Unconscious 
of  Bill's  approach,  she  continued  her  graceful  strides 
back  and  forth  until  he  was  near  enough  to  hear  her  say : 

"The  carriages,  sir,  are  the  hangers.  The  car 
riages,  sir,  are  the  hangers.  The  carriages,  sir,  are 
the  hangers." 

When  she  saw  the  manager  she  stepped  back  in 
pretty  confusion,  seeking  the  close  shelter  of  the  wall. 

"I  say,  kid,  you're  a  dream!"  was  Bill's  candid 
declaration. 

The  new  "  Osric  "  drew  her  mantle  closely  around 
her  and  timidly  shrank  from  his  admiring  scrutiny. 
Under  the  rouge  her  cheeks  reddened  with  blushes. 

"  Oh,  please,  please,  don't  look  at  me,  Mr.  Truetell. 
I  —  I  never  —  wore  it  —  them  before.  I  did  n't  think  I 
could  be  so  nervous.  Honest,  I  feel  like  crying." 

Bill  tried  his  best  to  reassure  her.  "  Cheer  up,  kid ! 
You  '11  be  all  right.  I  knew  a  girl  once  who  bawled 
like  a  baby  the  first  time  she  put  on  tights,  but  she  grew 
to  like  them  so  much  she  cried  just  as  hard  when  she 
had  to  give  them  up.  You  're  going  to  make  a  hit  to 
night!" 

[182] 


"SHE  STEPPED  BACK  IN  PRETTY  CONFUSION,  SEEKING  THE  CLOSE 
SHELTER  OF  THE  WALL" 


DOING   THE  DANE 

"No,  I  won't,  Mr.  Truetell.  Skakespeare  's  no 
song  and  dance.  I  '11  go  up  in  my  lines,  I  'm  sure  I 
will." 

She  shook  her  head  dolefully  and  muttered  in  a 
mechanical  tone: 

"The  wagons,  sir,  are  the  hangers." 

"  There ! "  she  cried  in  a  burst  of  anguish.  "  I  said 
' wagons'  instead  of  *  carriages.'  What  will  I  do? 
What  will  I  do?" 

"Say  whichever  you  like,"  encouraged  Bill.  "No 
body  '11  notice  it." 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  will.  I  said  '  wagons '  at  rehearsal 
to-day,  and  the  stage  manager  was  mad  clean  through. 
He  told  me  to  keep  repeating  the  line  to-night  before 
I  went  on  so  as  to  have  it  right,  and  here  I  am  saying 
'wagons.'  I  know  I'll  say  'wagons'  in  the  play." 

The  little  Shakespearian  novice  could  no  longer 
hold  back  the  tears. 

"  Don't  cry,  kid.  You  hand  them  '  wagons '  if  you 
feel  like  it,  and  if  Pillsbury  makes  any  kick,  refer  him 
to  me."  Bill's  breast  perceptibly  swelled  in  expec 
tation  of  resuming  the  office  of  the  girl's  protector. 
"  What 's  he  making  so  much  fuss  about  a  single  word 
for  ?  Does  n't  he  know  that  wagons  and  carriages  are 
about  the  same  thing?" 

The  actress  sobbed.  "  He  says  —  if  I  —  if  I  — 
say  — '  wagons '  to-night  I  '11  —  queer  —  queer  the  whole 
show." 

[185] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

t 

"He  's  crazy.  Forget  him!"  commanded  Bill  em 
phatically.  In  his  softest,  kindliest  tones  he  added, 
"Please  don't  cry  any  more.  I  don't  like  to  see  you 
cry.  I—" 

A  loud  order,  "Clear  the  stage!"  abruptly  ended 
the  little  scene  behind  the  wall  of  Elsinore  Castle. 
Actors,  stage  hands,  and  property-men  precipitately 
fled  to  the  wings.  Mr.  Steelson,  dressed  in  the  sombre 
raiment  of  Hamlet,  remained  alone  in  the  centre  of 
the  stage  for  a  final  survey.  Glancing  critically  at 
the  royal  residence,  he  noted  that  it  inclined  too  much 
to  the  right  and  called  out : 

"Move  that  castle  wall  more  to  left  centre." 

A  stage  hand  carelessly  picked  up  the  castle  wall 
and  gave  it  a  gentle  shove  to  the  desired  position. 

"Those  battlements  and  towers  must  come  down 
stage  at  least  two  feet,"  was  his  next  order. 

The  battlements  and  towers,  propelled  by  a  couple 
of  workmen,  obeyed  the  command. 

"Is  the  Ghost  ready?" 

"Here!"  came  Smolton's  sepulchral  voice  from  the 
left  upper  entrance. 

"Not  quite  so  much  moon,  electrician!" 

The  supply  of  moonlight  was  straightway  dimin 
ished. 

"All  right.     Signal  the  curtain." 

The  star  strutted  from  the  stage.  Pillsbury,  sta 
tioned  in  the  "  prompt "  entrance,  pressed  the  electric 

[186] 


DOING  THE  DANE 

button  communicating  with  the  waiting  attendant 
in  the  fly-gallery,  and  the  curtain  immediately  arose 
on  the  first  act  of  the  tragedy. 

Gloomily  but  grandly  the  majestic  current  of  the 
masterpiece  swept  along  until  the  immortal  soliloquy 
scene  was  begun.  Mr.  Steelson  and  his  company 
were  scoring  an  unqualified  triumph.  Although  the 
spectators  had  never  before  seen  a  performance  of 
"  Hamlet "  the  vital  chords  it  struck  met  a  ready  re 
sponse,  and  applause  was  frequent  and  enthusiastic. 

Mr.  Ranston,  in  his  seat  of  judgment  in  the  stage 
box,  had  found  little  to  condemn  in  the  work  of  his 
brother  dramatist.  On  several  occasions,  when  the 
actors  uttered  certain  memorable  lines  which  for  ages 
have  symbolized  the  most  perfect  crystallizations  of 
thought  and  philosophy,  he  deigned  to  nod  his  head 
approvingly.  As  the  opening  sentences  of  the  solil 
oquy  were  delivered,  he  leaned  forward  in  his  chair, 
clasped  his  hands  under  his  chin,  and  murmured  to 
himself,  "Even  I  could  do  no  better  work  than  this." 

On  the  other  side  of  the  footlights  the  star  was 
eclipsing  all  his  previous  histrionic  efforts.  During  his 
long  experience  as  an  exponent  of  the  "legitimate" 
he  had  personified  Hamlet  in  hundreds  of  performances, 
and  every  time  it  had  been  a  labor  of  love.  Like  other 
stars  who  have  essayed  the  Dane,  Mr.  Steelson  was 
sensible  of  a  strong  bond  of  sympathy  between  the 
unhappy  prince  and  himself. 

[187] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

Perhaps  the  underlying  reason  why  this  tragic 
hero  appeals  so  forcefully  to  the  average  actor  is  based 
on  the  characteristics  they  have  in  common:  the  vary 
ing  moods,  the  petulancy,  the  fits  of  melancholy,  the 
irresolution,  and  the  flashes  of  insanity.  Some  im 
personators  of  Hamlet  might  be  loath  to  admit  this 
similitude.  Mr.  Steelson  not  only  frankly  confessed 
it,  but  went  several  steps  further. 

"  I  can  play  Hamlet,"  he  was  wont  to  say,  "  because 
I  am  Hamlet." 

In  his  performance  in  Bostwick  the  commingling  of 
his  own  nature  with  Hamlet's  seemed  a  more  natural 
process  than  ever  before.  The  player  wept  at  Hamlet's 
griefs,  and  through  a  strange  psychological  transition 
he  could  feel  the  soul  of  Hamlet  sympathizing  with 
his  own  misfortunes. 

"  To  be  or  not  to  be:   that  is  the  question: 
Whether  't  is  nobler  in  the  mind  to  suffer 
The  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune, 
Or  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles, 
And  by  opposing  end  them." 

Into  every  line,  into  every  word,  this  evening  Steel- 
son  threw  all  the  fervor  of  his  being.  What  "slings 
and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune  "  had  he  not  endured! 
How  often  had  he  been  tempted  to  lay  down  the  bur 
den  of  his  life  forever,  restrained  only  by  a  nobler 
mental  instinct  that  persuaded  him  to  suffer  on  in 
silence ! 

[188] 


DOING   THE  DANE 

"To  die:  to  sleep; 

No  more ;  and  by  a  sleep  to  say  we  end 
The  heartache  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 
That  flesh  is  heir  to;   't  is  a  consummation 
Devoutly  to  be  wished." 

Again,  his  own  feelings,  his  own  thoughts!  Who 
could  not  act  under  the  inspiration  of  such  sentiments, 
the  outpourings  of  his  own  soul!  Never  in  his  life 
had  he  felt  the  wondrous  hypnotic  spell  of  Shakes 
peare  so  vividly  as  to-night.  Steelson  the  actor  was 
no  more.  Hamlet  the  Dane  had  come  to  earth  again 
for  the  edification  of  the  theatre-goers  of  Bostwick. 
Small  wonder  they  sat  like  people  entranced ! 

"To  die,  to  sleep; 

To  sleep,  perchance  to  dream :  ay,  there  's  the  rub ; 
For  in  that  sleep  of  death  what  dreams  may  come, 
When  we  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil, 
Must  give  us  pause." 

In  the  contemplation  of  the  awful  dreams  that  may 
follow  mortal  dissolution  the  actor  shut  his  eyes.  On 
opening  them  he  beheld  a  sight  as  chilling  to  his  sen 
sibilities  as  any  post-mortem  apparition  could  possibly 
be.  A  big  black  cat  had  walked  on  the  stage,  and 
was  looking  up  inquiringly  into  the  startled  face  of 
the  Prince  of  Denmark. 


[189] 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

PUSSY  AND  THE  PRINCE 

THE  author  of  the  saw,  "A  cat  may  look  on 
a  king,"  would  have  received  an  instructive 
object  lesson  from  his  own  proverb  could  he 
have  viewed  the  situation  on  the  stage  of  the  Bostwick 
theatre.  He  would  have  learned  that  a  cat,  assuming 
her  right  to  raise  her  eyes  to  a  king,  may  stare  a  mere 
prince  out  of  countenance,  if  she  feels  so  inclined.  The 
feline  now  confronting  Hamlet  was  evidently  cognizant 
of  her  prerogative  regarding  persons  of  kingly  origin, 
for  her  inspection  of  the  Dane's  noble  features  was 
searching  and  long  continued,  as  she  stood  at  the  re 
spectful  distance  of  a  yard  from  him,  purring  her  sat 
isfaction  at  being  in  the  royal  presence. 

Mr.  Steelson  was  absolutely  petrified  in  the  tragic 
attitude  he  had  struck  just  prior  to  pussy's  entrance. 
When  he  had  closed  his  eyes  to  conjure  up  ghastly 
death-dreams  his  head  was  thrown  well  back  and  his 
arms  stretched  to  their  full  length  straight  before  him, 
with  fingers  rigid  and  palms  upturned, —  the  entire 
posture  suggesting  the  thrilling  expectancy  of  a  person 
waiting  for  something  dreadful  to  appear.  As  his 

[190] 


PUSSY  AND   THE    PRINCE 

eyelids  slowly  parted  and  he  realized  that  something 
dreadful  had  put  in  an  appearance,  he  did  not  move 
a  muscle  of  face  or  body.  True,  he  felt  a  maddening 


"MR.  STEELSON  WAS  PETRIFIED  IN  THE  TRAGIC  ATTITUDE  HE 
HAD  STRUCK  " 

inclination  to  establish  a  connection  between  his  sleek 
black  visitor  and  the  pointed  toe  of  his  princely  slipper, 
but  his  calmer  judgment  warned  him  that  such  a 

[191] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

procedure  would  be  extremely  undignified  for  a  Danish 
prince,  and  not  less  than  fatal  to  the  performance. 

Strange  to  say,  the  spectators  were  not  disposed 
to  take  a  humorous  view  of  the  singular  scene.  They 
sat  with  solemn  faces,  accepting  the  cat  as  a  regular 
member  of  the  cast,  introduced  to  illustrate  a  spooky 
emanation  from  Hamlet's  disordered  imagination. 
They  regarded  the  animal  with  the  same  fearsome  awe 
that  the  ghost  of  Hamlet's  father  had  inspired  in  them 
on  his  entrance  in  the  earlier  scene. 

Instinctively  the  victim  of  pussy's  intrusion  knew 
this  fortunate  disposition  on  the  part  of  the  audi 
ence,  but  his  instinct  also  cautioned  him  its  illusion 
could  not  last  long,  and  he  breathed  a  fervent  prayer 
that  the  cat  might  be  content  with  her  examination  of 
himself  and  leave  the  stage  when  it  was  finished. 

His  prayer  was  not  answered.  After  completing 
her  inspection  of  the  prince  she  turned  her  attention 
to  the  articles  of  furniture  in  the  royal  apartment,  run 
ning  about  with  perfect  self-confidence  and  freedom 
of  movement  and  never  an  indication  of  stage-fright. 

The  members  of  the  orchestra,  who  had  been  play 
ing  slow  music  for  the  soliloquy,  stopped  in  conster 
nation  when  the  cat  entered  and  took  the  centre  of 
the  stage;  but  a  quick  glance  darting  from  Hamlet's 
eye  to  the  leader's  warned  him  that  the  situation  must 
be  saved  at  any  cost,  and  the  sad  strains  were  resumed. 

The  leader's  baton  now  came  in  for  its   share  in 

[192] 


PUSSY  AND   THE  PRINCE 

pussy's  diversions.  It  was  evident  that  she  imagined 
the  gentleman  directing  the  musicians  was  waving 
his  polished  stick  solely  to  amuse  her,  for  she  capered 
friskily  while  she  followed  the  movements  of  the  wand 
from  side  to  side. 

It  was  a  period  of  purgatory7  for  Mr.  Steelson,  but 
he  maintained  his  original  attitude  heroically,  his 
head  thrown  back  and  arms  extended  as  he  continued 
the  delivery  of  the  soliloquy. 

"If  I  relax  for  a  second,"  he  thought,  "I'll  lose 
my  grip  on  the  audience.  My  God,  what  a  situation 
for  an  artist  like  me!" 

His  mental  torture  was  indescribable.  He  did  not 
dare  to  look  at  the  cat  again.  He  must  be  supremely 
indifferent  to  her  presence.  Furthermore,  he  knew 
that  by  this  time  the  spectators,  even  with  their 
limited  Bostwickian  intelligences,  must  be  aware 
that  the  actions  of  the  tabby  did  not  constitute  part  of 
the  original  play  as  Shakespeare  wrote  it,  and  he  grew 
painfully  conscious  that  they  were  watching  him  in 
tently  to  see  how  he  was  bearing  the  terrible  strain. 
If  he  gave  the  slightest  sign  of  his  concern  in  the  pres 
ence  of  the  cat  the  people  in  front  would  instantly 
lose  their  sympathetic  interest  in  him  and  the  tragedy 
transform  itself  into  a  howling  farce.  It  was  a  thrilling 
contest  between  the  actor  and  the  cat  for  first  place  in 
the  hearts  of  the  audience,  with  the  odds  thus  far  in 
favor  of  Mr.  Steelson. 

[193] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

Tiring  of  chasing  the  elusive  baton,  the  star's 
feline  Nemesis  scampered  along  the  row  of  footlights,, 
paused  a  moment  before  the  Ranstons'  box,  and  then, 
leaping  lightly  on  the  rail,  calmly  sized  up  the  occupants 
one  by  one. 

In  justice  to  the  Bard  of  Bostwick,  it  must  be  said 
that  he  did  not  yield  to  the  temptation  to  take  any 
mean  advantage  over  the  Bard  of  Avon  that  the  cat's 
proximity  offered  him.  He  knew  the  bond  with 
which  the  star  had  been  holding  the  audience  was 
weakened  to  a  thread  so  slender  it  must  snap  the  in 
stant  he  made  any  demonstration  for  or  against  the 
tantalizing  animal  perched  within  reach  of  his  arm. 
The  fate  of  the  soliloquy  scene  and  possibly  the  rest 
of  his  rival's  play  lay  in  his  power.  A  man  of  lesser 
mould  might  have  surrendered  to  the  temptation,  but 
Mr.  Ranston  grandly  resisted,  and  Mr.  Shakespeare 
was  immune  for  the  evening  as  far  as  his  fellow- 
dramatist  was  concerned. 

Absolutely  ignoring  the  cat,  therefore,  the  great 
modern  author  remained  in  position,  his  hands  clasped 
under  his  chin,  fixedly  regarding  the  illustrious  scion 
of  the  house  of  Denmark  who  was  still  rendering  the 
transcendent  soliloquy  quite  as  bravely  and  just  as 
conscientiously  as  though  there  were  no  cats  in  exist 
ence  anywhere  in  the  world,  least  of  all  on  the  stage 
of  the  Bostwick  theatre.  Pussy  was  displeased  at 
her  reception  in  the  Ranston  box,  and  evidenced  her 

[194] 


PUSSY  AND   THE   PRINCE 

displeasure  by  turning  tail  and  trotting  across  the  stage 
to  the  box  on  the  opposite  side. 

At  this  critical  juncture  Bill  Truetell,  who  had  been 
a  breathless  spectator  of  the  cat's  escapades  from  a 
seat  in  the  rear  of  the  theatre,  acted  on  an  impulse  to 
go  to  the  rescue  of  his  star  and  be  the  hero  of  the 
evening.  The  sufferings  he  had  been  enduring  were 
not  a  whit  less  poignant  than  Mr.  Steelson's.  The 
awful  suspense  had  studded  his  seamy  brow  with 
beads  of  perspiration.  His  hands  were  cold  with 
extreme  nervousness  and  his  heart  had  almost  ceased 
to  beat.  When  he  saw  the  cat  for  the  first  time,  he 
was  possessed  with  a  desire  to  rush  behind  the  scenes 
and  kick  pussy  off  the  stage  and  into  the  next  world, 
but  he  knew  this  murderous  feat  would  only  make 
matters  worse.  Alas!  he  felt  powerless  to  help,  and 
yet  he  must  think  of  something  to  do!  Meanwhile 
the  grim  fascination  of  the  spectacle  held  him  to  his 
seat.  , 

When  the  cat  left  the  Ranstons  to  seek  a  more 
genial  greeting  in  the  opposite  box,  a  solution  of  the 
feline  problem  came  to  Bill's  mind.  Why  had  he 
not  thought  before  of  his  little  ruse  that  had  worked  so 
effectively  with  the  station  agent's  pet  in  the  ticket 
office  in  Branton?  It  was  the  thing  to  do,  and  it 
must  be  done  at  once! 

In  less  than  a  minute  after  he  had  formed  his  re 
solve  Bill  was  kneeling  on  the  stage  behind  one  of  the 

[195] 


BILL    TRUETELL 

wings,  scraping  the  floor  with  his  cane.  Pussy  straight 
way  pricked  up  her  ears  and  ran  toward  the  sound. 

"I've  got  her,"  was  Bill's  joyous  thought.  The 
cat  paused  almost  within  his  reach. 

"  Just  a  little  nearer,  good  pussy,"  coaxed  Bill. 

Pussy  twisted  her  head  and  listened  to  the  scraping 
noise  as  if  trying  to  decide  whether  a  rat  was  really  in 
the  vicinity.  Her  decision  was  in  the  negative  and 
she  turned  to  run  away.  Bill,  stretching  out  franti 
cally  to  catch  the  escaping  tabby,  lost  his  balance  and 
fell  over  on  the  stage  in  full  view  of  the  audience. 

Instantly  there  were  shrieks  of  laughter  from  all 
parts  of  the  theatre.  The  uproar  continued,  showing 
no  sign  of  cessation  until  Hamlet  ordered  the  curtain 
to  be  rung  down  on  his  misfortunes. 

The  unhappy  Dane  sank  helplessly  on  a  chair 
and  shook  his  head  disconsolately.  Bill,  shamefaced 
and  humiliated,  went  up  to  him  and  contritely  said: 

"I  'm  so  sorry,  governor." 

Mr.  Steelson's  eyes  blazed  wrathfully  at  his  man 
ager. 

"Don't  be  sore  on  me,  governor,"  entreated  Bill. 
"I  didn't  intend  to  do  that  fall.  On  the  level,  I 
did  n't." 

Bill's  extremely  repentant,  almost  tearful,  expres 
sion  awoke  the  actor  at  last  to  a  realization  of  the  humor 
of  it  all. 

Straightening  himself  up  he  said:     "Truetell,  take 

[196] 


PUSSY   AND   THE  PRINCE 

my  advice  and  never  try  again  to  enter  the  acting  end 
of  the  profession.  Your  sphere  is  in  the  front  of  the 
house.  The  spectators  stood  for  the  cat,  but  when  you 
made  that  inartistic  entrance  it  was  all  off.  I  could 
hold  them  no  longer.  Now,  boys,"  turning  to  the  stage 
hands,  "  clear  for  the  next  scene,  and  in  the  mean 
time  somebody  please  oblige  me  by  killing  that  cat." 

Unfortunately  his  sanguinary  request  could  not  be 
executed.  In  the  excitement  following  Bill's  precip 
itate  appearance  pussy  vanished  from  sight,  carrying 
with  her  a  favorable  impression  of  her  experience  in 
the  "legitimate"  and  a  determination  to  re-enter  the 
field  at  the  first  opportunity. 

The  audience,  quickly  recovering  its  equanimity 
after  the  cat  episode,  entered  into  the  true  tragic 
spirit  of  the  ensuing  scenes  and  bestowed  liberal  ap 
plause  on  the  actors. 

Among  those  who  met  with  favor  was  the  little 
Van  Balken,  who  made  an  undoubted  hit  in  her 
Shakespearian  debut,  reciting  Osric's  speeches  with  all 
the  necessary  sprightliness,  and  without  a  single  mistake. 

Bill  was  waiting  for  her  in  the  wings  when  she  came 
off  after  her  first  scene.  He  congratulated  her  with, 
"  I  'm  proud  of  you.  You  're  the  real  classical  goods." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Mr.  Truetell.  Was  I  all  right  in 
my  lines  ?  " 

Bill's  eyes  squinted  with  humorous  satisfaction 
at  her  delicately  rounded  figure. 

[197] 


BILL    TRUETELL 

"Your  lines  are  perfect,  kid." 

Her  blushes  showed  through  her  grease  paint. 

"You  know  what  I  mean,  Mr.  Truetell.  Did  I 
make  good?" 

"Make  good!"  repeated  Bill.  "Ophelia  for  yours 
next  season." 

The  play  drew  near  its  climax.  Hamlet  had  re 
ceived  his  fatal  wound  from  the  envenomed  sword  of 
Laertes  and  was  preparing  to  die  after  the  most  ap 
proved  histrionic  fashion  within  the  arms  of  the  faithful 
Horatio. 

Mr.  Steelson,  who  had  always  prided  himself  on  his 
death  performances,  determined  this  night  to  break 
all  dissolution  records  by  dying  so  realistically  that  the 
memory  of  that  unspeakable  horror  in  the  soliloquy 
scene  would  be  forever  blotted  from  the  minds  of  the 
spectators. 

Assisted  by  Horatio,  he  had  sunk  with  perfect 
naturalness  to  a  recumbent  position.  His  lower  limbs 
gradually  stiffened  as  he  simulated  the  rigor  of  death 
creeping  over  them.  He  clutched  his  throat  con 
vulsively  like  a  man  choking  for  want  of  air,  rolled  his 
eyes  until  the  whites  alone  were  visible,  heaved  a  pro 
longed  expiring  sigh,  and  breathed  what  was  scheduled 
to  be  Hamlet's  last  breath. 

"Good-night,  sweet  prince,"  quoth  Horatio,  "and 
flights  of  angels  sing  thee  to  thy  rest." 

In  lieu  of  flights  of  angels,  one  black  cat,  the  heroine 

[198] 


PUSSY  AND   THE   PRINCE 

of  the  soliloquy  scene,  tripped  nimbly  on  the  stage 
and  stood  at  the  feet  of  the  dead  Dane. 

The  audience  greeted  the  reappearance  of  pussy 
with  storms  of  laughter. 

"  What 's  the  matter  now  ? "  groaned  Hamlet, 
fearing  to  open  his  eyes. 

Horatio  hoarsely  whispered,  "  It 's  that  damned  cat 
again.  Hold  on.  You  can't  get  up.  You're  dead." 

"I  wish  I  was.  For  God's  sake  ring  down  the 
curtain." 

The  signal  was  given,  but  the  curtain  man  in  the 
fly-gallery  had  deserted  his  place  to  investigate  the 
cause  of  the  uproar  in  the  audience;  consequently 
the  combination  of  the  defunct  Hamlet,  the  sympa 
thetic  Horatio,  and  the  irrepressible  cat  still  remained 
an  interesting  exhibition. 

"  Is  the  curtain  coming  down  ?  "  gasped  Mr.  Steelson. 

"Not  yet." 

"Then  I  'm  going  to  get  up." 

Resisting  Horatio's  efforts  to  prevent  him  from 
coming  back  to  life,  the  erstwhile  dead  Dane  struggled 
to  his  feet  and  launched  at  the  cat  a  mighty  kick  which, 
had  it  landed,  would  have  sent  the  aspiring  feline 
sailing  to  the  top  gallery.  It  did  not  land.  Pussy 
skipped  playfully  toward  the  wings,  the  revivified 
Hamlet  in  hot  pursuit;  and  this  was  the  final  scene  in 
the  tragedy  which  the  spectators  beheld  before  the  cur 
tain  man  returned  to  his  post  and  performed  his  duty. 

[199] 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  MIGHTY  FALLEN 

THERE  is  a  histrionic  superstition  that  the  appear 
ance  of  a  cat  on  a  stage  during  a  performance  is 
a  sure  sign  of  good  luck  for  the  company  the  rest 
of  the  season.  Unfortunately,  superstitions,  as  well  as 
rules,  have  their  exceptions.  The  animal  that  upset  the 
performance  of  "Hamlet"  succeeded  also  in  upsetting 
the  superstition  in  its  relation  to  the  Steelson  tour, 
for  nothing  but  bad  luck  followed  the  engagement  in 
Bostwick.  The  organization  journeyed  through  several 
States  in  the  Middle  West  without  discovering  among 
the  inhabitants  any  noticeable  symptoms  of  an  appetite 
for  classical  repertoire  as  served  by  Mr.  Steelson. 

One  of  Bill's  managerial  duties  was  to  present  to  the 
star  every  evening  a  copy  of  the  box-office  statements 
compiled  by  the  treasurer  of  the  theatre,  showing 
the  number  of  seats  sold  for  the  performance  and  the 
amount  of  the  receipts.  The  presentation  was  made 
regularly  between  the  second  and  third  acts  in  Mr. 
Steelson's  dressing-room.  , 

This  particular  evening,  before  entering,  the  mana 
ger  rapped  deferentially  on  the  door. 

[  200  ] 


THE   MIGHTY   FALLEN 

Mr.  Steelson  cheerily  called  out,  "Come  in." 

Bill  appeared,  bearing  the  memorandum  of  the  com 
pany's  daily  financial  fate. 

"Ah,  Truetell!"  was  the  star's  warm  greeting. 
"  How  is  it  to-night  ?  " 

"Not  so  good,  governor." 

"Never  mind,  Truetell.  Better  luck  to-morrow," 
was  the  star's  encouraging  rejoinder.  , 

On  the  following  evening  the  receipts  were  even 
more  disheartening. 

To  the  inquiry,  "How  is  it  to-night?"  Bill  made 
answer,  "  It 's  fierce." 

The  star  took  the  statement,  glanced  at  the  paltry 
sum  indicated,  and  again  showed  his  pluck  by  say 
ing,  "Never  mind,  Truetell.  Better  luck  to-morrow 
night." 

The  town  of  Drenham,  the  next  stop  in  the  troupe's 
itinerary,  paid  tribute  to  Shakespeare  to  the  extent  of 
just  seventeen  dollars  and  twenty-five  cents. 

"Looks  pretty  scant  in  front  to-night,  Truetell. 
How  much  is  it  ?  " 

Mr.  Steelson,  made  up  as  King  Lear,  was  sitting  at 
his  dressing-table,  stroking  his  long  white  beard,  when 
the  manager  paid  his  nightly  visit. 

"  I  hate  to  tell  you  the  receipts,  governor.  See  for 
yourself." 

He  handed  the  actor  the  fatal  slip  of  paper.  The 
ridiculously  small  total  caused  Mr.  Steelson  to  pull 

[201] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

his  kingly  whisker  with  such  vigor  that  it  parted  from 
its  fastening. 

Holding  the  miserable  statement  of  receipts  in  one 
hand  and  the  dislodged  beard  in  the  other,  he  ex 
claimed: 

"  Truetell,  there  must  be  some  mistake.  I  counted 
twice  as  many  people  as  that  when  I  was  on  in  the  last 
scene." 

Bill  explained,  "  There  's  a  lot  of  lithograph  passes, 
but  not  a  cent  more  in  real  money." 

"  Then  what  can  be  the  matter  ?  Don't  they  know 
Shakespeare  here?" 

"It 's  my  belief,"  said  Bill,  with  deep  earnestness, 
"they  never  even  heard  of  Shakespeare  in  this  section. 
We  're  up  against  it  good,  hard,  and  plenty.  I  'm  not 
a  quitter,  Mr.  Steelson.  I  've  carried  along  shows  on 
conversation  before,  but  my  advice  in  this  case  is  to 
close  up  shop  the  end  of  this  week." 

"  And  go  back  to  New  York  ?  "  the  star  pathetically 
asked. 

"  Yes,  get  back  while  we  've  got  the  price,"  urged 
Bill.  "  I  can  manipulate  somehow  to  scrape  the  fares 
together  this  week.  If  we  wait  till  next  week  there  '11 
be  nothing  doing." 

Mr.  Steelson  was  a  patient  auditor  of  this  dark  fore 
cast.  When  the  manager  finished,  the  star  took  a  brush 
from  a  mucilage  pot  on  his  table  and  slowly  applied  it  to 
the  edges  of  the  King  Lear  beard.  Facing  the  mirror 

[202] 


THE  MIGHTY  FALLEN 

he  carefully  affixed  the  snowy  appendage  in  its  proper 
position.  Then  he  rose  proudly  to  his  full  height,  drew 
his  royal  robes  about  him,  and  turned  to  his  associate. 

"Truetell,"  he  said  in  subdued  but  impressive 
tones,  "you  may  return  to  New  York  whenever  you 
like.  I  'm  going  to  stick  to  Shakespeare." 

His  noble  determination  sent  a  responsive  thrill 
through  Bill's  sympathetic  heart. 

"If  you  stick,"  he  cried,  "I  'm  with  you!" 

The  star  was  visibly  touched  by  this  honest  expres 
sion  of  loyalty.  He  flung  his  arm  about  his  manager's 
shoulders  and  held  it  there  as  they  left  the  dressing-room 
in  response  to  the  call  for  the  next  act.  The  display 
of  affection  was  duly  appreciated  by  Bill,  who  stood  in 
the  wings  while  the  star  strode  on  the  stage;  and  he 
listened  in  admiration  to  his  rendition  of  King  Lear's 
priceless  speeches  before  an  audience  representing  a 
sum  total  of  less  than  eighteen  dollars! 

No  appreciable  increase  of  interest  in  the  classic 
drama  revealing  itself  in  the  towns  following  Drenham, 
the  financial  status  of  the  Steelson  company  quickly 
reached  a  stage  of  hopeless  insolvency.  Every  day 
new  obligations  sprang  into  existence,  while  old  ones 
grew  larger.  Salaries  no  longer  existed  save  in  the 
memory  of  the  artists. 

The  present  conditions  were  so  bad  and  the  prospects 
so  much  worse  that  several  members  unceremoniously 
left  the  troupe.  Even  their  fealty  to  Shakespeare 

[203] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

could  not  stand  so  severe  a  test.  Finally,  only  ten 
survivors  remained,  the  courageous  roster  including 
Mr.  Steelson;  Bill;  Miss  Wentworth;  her  daughter 
Maud;  her  husband,  the  "character"  man;  Smolton, 
the  "heavy"  man;  Henley,  the  comedian;  Dodd,  the 
"juvenile"  man;  Mrs.  Jameson;  and  the  little  Van 
Balken. 

How  the  star  succeeded  in  presenting  the  pieces  in 
his  repertoire  with  only  nine  players  is  still  a  marvel  of 
stage  history.  His  announced  aversion  to  one  actor 
impersonating  two  characters  that  were  required  to 
be  on  the  stage  at  the  same  time,  was  quickly  over 
come  by  the  necessity  that  knows  no  law,  dramatic  or 
otherwise.  Necessity  also  taught  him  that  Shake 
speare  himself  must  be  sacrificed  in  certain  circum 
stances,  and  he  ^employed  the  sacrificial  knife  in 
cutting  out  certain  scenes  and  paring  down  others  to 
meet  the  exigencies  of  his  abbreviated  company,  which, 
with  the  aid  of  the  same  convenient  weapon,  he 
spread  over  a  great  variety  of  parts,  the  last  operation 
being  not  unlike  the  covering  of  a  large  slice  of  bread 
with  a  limited  supply  of  butter. 

Public  criticism  of  these  high-handed  amputations 
and  condensations  was  discounted  by  the  fact  that  the 
public  remained  away  from  the  performances,  which, 
nevertheless,  were  given  with  as  much  conscientiousness 
as  if  every  theatre  visited  was  packed  to  the  doors. 

When  one  desertion  from  the  Steelson  ranks  had  fol- 

[204  ] 


THE   MIGHTY   FALLEN 

lowed  another,  the  star  never  faltered  in  his  resolution 
to  press  onward.  If  every  one  of  his  company  left  him, 
he  declared,  he  should  still  be  true  to  his  classical  colors, 
even  to  presenting  the  various  plays  in  monologue  form. 
He  was,  however,  in  no  immediate  danger  of  being 
forced  to  embody  a  whole  cast  in  himself,  for  the  eight 
players  still  remaining  with  him  had  all  proclaimed 
their  loyalty  to  the  death. 

Small  as  the  company  was,  its  manager  daily  added 
to  his  stock  of  gray  hairs  in  worrying  efforts  to  keep  it 
alive  and  moving.  Through  some  unaccountable  cause 
a  penurious  reputation  invariably  preceded  the  troupe, 
rendering  it  impossible  for  Bill  to  utilize  his  expert 
powers  of  persuasion  on  hotel  landlords  or  railroad 
agents.  "Cash  in  advance,"  was  the  motto  confront 
ing  him  wherever  he  turned.  Frequently,  when  denied 
credit  in  hotels,  he  was  compelled  to  lodge  the  artists  in 
cheap  boarding  places,  in  farm-houses,  or  wherever  an 
unwary  householder  was  willing  to  take  a  risk. 

How  to  keep  the  company  supplied  with  even  the 
bare  necessities  of  life  was  the  question  now  facing  its 
executive  head.  All  luxuries  were  put  on  the  tabooed 
list.  The  little  luncheon  after  the  performance  passed 
into  history.  During  the  day  the  meals  did  not  always 
appear  with  clock-like  regularity,  and  when  they  did 
materialize  they  were  of  the  plainest,  sometimes  the 
coarsest,  description. 

The  severe  diet  and  the  occasional  absence  of  it, 

[205] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

combined  with  other  privations,  rapidly  left  their 
imprint  on  the  men  and  women  in  the  unfortunate 
troupe,  all  of  whom  became  thin  and  haggard,  with 
the  notable  exception  of  Mrs.  Jameson,  who  had 
more  flesh  to  spare  than  any  other  two  members  of  the 
company. 

Almost  as  serious  a  question  as  the  keeping  to 
gether  of  the  bodies  and  souls  of  the  Steelson  artists  was 
the  problem  of  transporting  them  from  town  to  town. 
Railroad  officials  invariably  insisted  on  money  down 
before  the  delivery  of  tickets.  When  the  required 
amount  was  non-existent,  what  was  the  magic  prac 
tised  to  call  the  needed  cash  into  being?  On  such 
crucial  occasions  every  known  process,  save  stealing, 
was  employed  to  secure  the  needed  financial  assistance. 
The  watches  of  the  star  and  manager  soon  went  to  that 
bourne  from  whence  few  watches  return.  They  were 
followed  by  jewelled  pieces  of  costumes  and  valuable 
stage  weapons,  treasured  by  the  star  for  so  many  years 
that  they  cost  him  a  genuine  heart  pang  at  parting. 

Several  times,  when  it  was  utterly  impossible  to  pay 
for  the  transportation  over  the  regular  railroad,  the 
company  was  saved  from  stranding  by  the  intervention 
of  a  friendly  trolley  line,  which  carried  the  artists  to  the 
next  town  for  a  sum  within  the  limits  of  the  managerial 
exchequer. 

After  one  of  these  life-saving  interurban  rides,  cost 
ing  Bill  fifty  cents  for  the  entire  organization,  the  town 

[  206  ] 


THE   MIGHTY   FALLEN 

of  Bassett  was  reached  early  in  the  afternoon  of  a  cold 
November  day. 

Although  three  silver  quarters  in  his  trousers  pocket 
represented  the  extent  of  the  treasury,  the  manager 
determined  to  obtain  accommodations  at  the  hotel,  a 
full  half-hour's  walk  from  the  station.  The  shivering 
players  huddled  about  the  office  stove,  while  Bill,  step 
ping  briskly  to  the  desk,  picked  up  a  pen  and  started 
with  a  flourish  to  inscribe  the  title  of  the  company  on 
the  register. 

"Just  a  minute,  please,"  said  the  clerk.  "My 
orders  are  to  get  a  cash  deposit  of  half  the  amount 
of  the  bill." 

"Nonsense,"  laughed  Bill.  "You  don't  know  who 
we  are." 

He  jingled  the  quarters  in  his  pocket  to  add  empha 
sis  to  his  financial  stability. 

"Yes,  I  do.  That 's  just  the  trouble,"  replied  the 
clerk. 

Bill,  assuming  an  air  of  assurance,  said,  "  Oh,  all 
right,  I  '11  straighten  this  out  in  a  minute." 

Drawing  one  of  the  silver  pieces  from  his  pocket 
he  tossed  it  on  the  desk. 

"  I  suppose  you  '11  let  me  use  your  telephone  if  I 
pay  you  the  full  charge  in  advance,  won't  you  ?  " 

The  clerk  made  change  for  the  call  and  Bill  rang 
up  the  theatre. 

"Hello,  old  man,"  was  his  cheery  greeting.     "This 

[207] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

is  Truetell,  manager  of  the  Steelson  Company.   How  's 
the  advance  sale  ?  " 

"Pretty  bad,"  was  the  discouraging  response  over 
the  wire. 

"How  bad?" 

"The  worst  ever." 

"  You  mean  there  's  no  sale  at  all  ?  " 

"You  could  n't  find  a  sale  with  a  search-warrant." 

"  What  are  the  prospects  of  a  window  sale  to-night  ?  " 

"Nothing  in  sight." 

Bill,  still  holding  the  receiver  to  his  ear,  turned  his 
disappointed  face  to  Mr.  Steelson,  who  had  come  to 
his  side  during  the  conversation. 

"You  needn't  tell  me.  I  know,"  said  the  star 
with  dismal  significance. 

"  Look  here,"  resumed  Bill  over  the  'phone.  "  The 
hotel  insists  on  a  cash  deposit,  and  I  can't  quite  make 
up  the  amount.  I  want  you  to  furnish  the  difference 
till  after  the  count  up.  Only  a  few  dollars.  " 

"Don't  make  me  laugh,  Truetell." 

Bill  looked  sorrowfully  at  the  star.  The  two  com 
panions  in  distress  exchanged  gloomy  headshakes. 

Once  more  addressing  himself  to  the  unsympa 
thetic  manager  at  the  other  end  of  the  wire,  Bill  said: 

"Very  well.  The  laugh's  on  me.  Sorry  to 
trouble  you  further,  but  can  you  recommend  a  boarding- 
house  where  they  don't  want  money  down  ?  " 

"  There  is  n't  a  single  boarding-house  in  Bassett." 

[208] 


THE   MIGHTY   FALLEN 

"  That 's  cheerful  news.  Don't  you  know  of  any 
place  where  we  can  put  up,  outside  of  the  village 
green  ?  " 

"You  might  try  Perry's." 

"Who's  Perry?" 

"  A  farmer  about  three  miles  from  the  hotel.  He  's 
a  queer  old  skinflint,  but  he  might  take  you  in  if  you 
happen  to  strike  him  right." 

"Thank  you  very  much."  Bill  restored  the  tele 
phone  receiver  to  its  hook. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said  to  the  company, 
"  our  old  friend  Perry  invites  us  to  be  his  guests  to-night. 
I  don't  like  the  looks  of  this  hotel,  anyway." 

The  ladies  and  gentlemen  wearily  picked  up  their 
belongings,  turned  their  backs  reluctantly  on  the  office 
stove,  and  started  to  walk  down  the  country  road, 
following  in  the  wake  of  Bill  and  Mr.  Steelson.  As 
the  afternoon  wore  on  the  cold  increased,  adding  to 
their  discomfort. 

Bassett  had  not  attained  the  sidewalk  stage  of 
town  development.  The  way  was  so  rough  and  stony 
and  worn  into  so  many  deep  ruts  that  the  sensitive  feet 
of  the  artists  suffered  much  before  the  journey  of  a 
full  hour  and  a  half  was  accomplished.  "  Perry's,"  to 
which  a  passing  farmer's  boy  directed  them,  loomed 
up  in  the  distance  as  a  welcoming  haven  of  refuge  to 
the  unfortunate  company,  every  one  of  whom  by  this 
time  was  almost  dropping  from  fatigue,  chilled  to  the 

[209] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

marrow,  and  nearly  famished  for  want  of  the  food 
they  had  not  tasted  since  breakfast. 

The  troupe  drew  up  in  front  of  an  old  gate  that 
creaked  ominously  on  its  rusty  hinges  as  Bill  swung 
it  open.  A  path  led  to  a  two-story  farm-house,  at 
least  a  century  old  and  wofully  in  need  of  repair. 
Beyond  the  house  and  a  little  to  the  right  was  a  barn 
so  newly  built  that  its  fresh,  unpainted  walls  glistened 
in  the  November  sunshine,  presenting  a  striking  con 
trast  to  the  dingy  exterior  of  the  ancient  domicile. 

Having  appointed  himself  envoy  extraordinary,  the 
manager,  leaving  the  company  at  the  gate,  walked  up 
to  the  house  and  applied  himself  to  the  old-fashioned 
knocker.  The  door  was  opened  by  a  curiously  sharp- 
faced,  dried-up,  elderly  personage  wearing  a  battered 
straw  hat,  a  gray  flannel  shirt,  and  faded  blue  jeans 
which  disappeared  in  the  tops  of  high,  unpolished 
boots.  A  bunch  of  white  bristles  protruded  threat 
eningly  from  his  chin,  which  went  up  and  down  in 
tobacco-masticating  motions  as  its  owner  stared  coldly 
at  his  visitor. 

"Beg  pardon,"  said  Bill,  summoning  all  his  polite 
ness  to  his  aid,  "  this  is  Mr.  Perry,  I  believe  ?  " 

The  possessor  of  the  bristles  ceased  his  facial  con 
tortions  only  long  enough  to  emit  a  grunt,  which  Bill 
interpreted  as  an  answer  in  the  affirmative. 

"  My  name 's  Truetell,  manager  of  the  Rupert 
Steelson  Dramatic  Company.  I  'd  like  to  arrange 
with  you  for  board  and  lodging  for  the  night." 

[2101 


THE   MIGHTY  FALLEN 

The  farmer  emitted  another  grunt.  This  time 
it  baffled  Bill's  power  of  interpretation. 

He  accordingly  repeated  his  announcement,  and 
the  farmer  repeated  the  grunt  with  exactly  the  same 
intonation  as  before. 

Remembering  that  deafness  is  sometimes  a  char 
acteristic  of  elderly  tillers  of  the  soil,  Bill  voiced  his 
statement  in  a  much  louder  key. 

"I  ain't  deef." 

The  farmer  snapped  his  words  like  a  whip-lash  as 
his  ferret  eyes  glared  piercingly  at  Bill,  who  apologized 
humbly  and  awaited  further  developments. 

"  Got  any  money  ?  "  demanded  the  crusty  old  agri 
culturist. 

"  You  '11  be  paid  in  the  morning.  We  're  playing 
at  the  opera  house  to-night.  Let  me  invite  you  and 
your  family  to  see  the  show." 

Bill  took  a  pass  from  his  pocket  and  offered  it  to 
the  old  man,  who  recoiled  from  it  as  from  a  poisoned 
dagger. 

"  We  dun't  go  to  see  show-folks  act.  We  're  good 
Meth'dists." 

The  manager  pocketed  his  pass  with  his  pride, 
and  humbly  renewed  his  request  for  accommoda 
tions. 

The  answer  he  received  was  icy  and  inflexible. 
"  'T  ain't  any  use  'thout  money." 

He  turned  and  re-entered  his  house.  The  situation 
had  become  desperate.  Bill  followed  the  farmer  down 

[211] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

the  hallway,  pouring  forth  an  eloquent  volley  of 
arguments  in  behalf  of  his  associates.  The  old  man 
hesitated,  retraced  a  step  or  two,  and  looked  through 
the  open  door  at  the  shivering  players  as  they  aligned 
themselves  in  front  of  the  gate,  patiently  awaiting  the 
result  of  the  manager's  parley. 

"  Be  them  the  troupe  ?  "  he  asked. 

Hope  sprang  at  once  to  possession  of  Bill's  soul. 
He  quickly  answered,  "  Yes,  Mr.  Perry,  that 's  the 
company.  Come  out  and  meet  them." 

"Dun't  want  to  meet  'em,"  snarled  the  farmer, 
"but  I'll  look  'em  over." 

He  slouched  half-way  down  the  walk,  took  a  criti 
cal  position  with  his  hands  on  his  hips,  and  surveyed 
the  company  with  the  air  of  a  cattle  buyer. 

The  inspection  finished,  he  turned  to  Bill  and 
asked,  "Kin  the  men  folks  work?" 

"Work?"   said  Bill.     "Why,   they're   artists!" 

"  Well,  if  they  be  artists,"  continued  the  farmer, 
"  that 's  jest  the  thing.  They  kin  paint  the  barn  yon 
der,  and  I  '11  tek  a  chance  and  trest  ye  fer  yer  lodgins 
and  victuals." 

The  manager  hastened  to  explain,  "But  they're 
not  that  kind  of  artists.  They  don't  paint." 

"Pooh!"  sneered  Perry.  "Anybody  kin  paint 
that 's  got  the  stren'th.  I  cal'late  ye  dun't  want  to 
make  a  bargain.  Good-day,  Mr.  Trouper." 

He  started  up  the  walk  to  the  house. 

[212] 


THE   MIGHTY   FALLEN 

"Wait  a  minute,"  cried  Bill,  "and  I  '11  talk  it  over 
with  them." 

Joining  the  company,  he  held  an  earnest  consulta 
tion  with  its  male  members.  The  proposition  to 
transform  themselves,  even  temporarily,  into  ordinary 
workmen  was  a  sore  blow  to  their  artistic  natures,  and 
met  with  general  disapproval. 

"  I  may  be  a  barn-stormer,"  declared  the  character 
man,  "  but  a  barn-painter  —  never ! " 

Henley,  the  comedian,  made  a  wholly  unsuccessful 
effort  to  smile,  as  he  said  sarcastically,  "It 's  a  joke." 

Smolton  was  true  to  his  villanous  stage  instincts. 
He  savagely  hissed  his  indignation  at  the  insult,  and 
was  in  favor  of  killing  the  farmer  for  daring  to  propose 
such  a  thing.  His  sentiments  were  heartily  indorsed 
by  Dodd,  who,  bristling  up,  slapped  him  on  the  shoul 
der  and  said,  "  I  'm  with  you,  old  man." 

The  star  remained  silent  during  these  outbursts  — 
sadly  but  eloquently  silent.  He  felt  the  weight  of  the 
degrading  suggestion  much  more  keenly  and  much 
more  deeply  than  his  associates,  but  he  gave  his 
thoughts  no  utterance.  Standing  with  bowed  head 
and  arms  folded,  an  expression  of  profound  melancholy 
overspread  his  face. 

"What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Steelson?"  asked  Bill. 

The  star  roused  himself  with  an  effort,  and  re 
sponded  gravely,  "You  know  our  necessities  even 
better  than  I,  Truetell.  What  do  you  say?" 

[213] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

"This  is  what  I  say,"  Bill  answered,  speaking  to 
the  actors  collectively.  "I  sympathize  with  you  all, 
gentlemen,  but  we  must  consider  the  ladies.  If  we  don't 
tackle  this  job  they  '11  suffer  more  than  we.  This  is  the 
only  place  in  town  where  there  's  a  living  chance  for 
them  to  eat  and  sleep  to-night.  I  say,  let 's  get  to  work." 

His  appeal  to  their  chivalrous  instincts  was  un 
answerable.  There  was  only  one  course  for  them  to 
pursue  honorably,  and  they  stoically  agreed  to  follow 
it,  even  though  it  led  them  up  and  down  the  sides  of 
Perry's  barn. 

The  strongly  marked  emotional  quality  existing 
in  every  Thespian's  nature  was  strikingly  illustrated 
in  the  readiness  with  which  the  Steelson  actors  changed 
their  bitter  opposition  to  complete  acquiescence. 
There  was  now  no  dissenting  voice  to  Bill's  diplomatic 
exhortation. 

The  star  took  his  manager's  hand. 

"Thank  you,  Truetell,"  he  said,  "for  showing  us 
our  duty." 

Bill  communicated  the  decision  to  the  farmer,  who 
commenced  preparations  for  the  painting  by  going  to 
the  door  of  the  house  and  calling,  "  Nancy ! " 

A  skirted  counterpart  of  Perry  minus  his  bristles 
appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"Nancy,"  squealed  the  male  rustic.  "I  jest  med 
a  deal  with  these  troupers  to  paint  the  barn  as  s'curity 
fer  their  board  'n'  lodgin's." 

[214] 


THE   MIGHTY  FALLEN 

Nancy  glanced  suspiciously  at  the  actors  and  ac 
tresses,  who  had  entered  the  yard  and  were  grouped 
before  the  barn,  gazing  upon  it  with  strange  interest. 

"  Kin  yer  trest  'em  while  they  're  a-doin'  on  it, 
Zeke?"  she  asked. 

"  We  '11  keep  an  eye  on  'em,  Nancy.  You  git  out 
the  paint,  and  I  '11  tend  to  the  ledders." 

Obeying  the  order,  she  re-entered  the  house,  and 
shortly  afterward  came  out  staggering  under  the  weight 
of  a  large  can  of  brown  paint.  Depositing  it  on  a  bench 
near  the  barn,  she  turned  to  go  back,  first,  however, 
bestowing  a  sharp,  questioning  look  on  the  players  as 
though  she  feared  lest  they  might  gratify  an  evil  inclina 
tion  to  dispose  of  the  precious  liquid  by  drinking 
it  or  appropriating  it  in  some  other  felonious  manner 
during  her  absence.  As  a  result  of  her  second  visit  to 
the  house,  she  brought  out  an  armful  of  old  brushes 
and  three  tin  pails,  into  which  she  poured  the  paint. 

"Two  on  ye  kin  dip  into  each  pail,  I  reckon,"  said 
the  calculating  Nancy  to  the  actors. 

In  the  meantime  Zeke  had  dragged  to  the  scene 
two  ladders  of  the  ordinary  pattern  and  one  step- 
ladder,  all  of  which  wobbled  dangerously  when  he 
placed  them  against  the  barn. 

"Are  the  ladders  safe,  Mr.  Perry?"  Bill  ventured 
to  inquire. 

"Safe  'nough,  I  reckin.  Been  usin'  on  'em 
round  the  place  fer  nigh  onto  forty  year." 

[215] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

"Say,  mister,"  continued  the  farmer,  turning  to  Mr. 
Steelson  and  noting  his  black  frock  coat,  "  I  '11  lend 
ye  a  pair  of  jumpers  so  's  yer  kin  save  them  Sunday  - 
go-to-meetin's." 

"Nay,  good  sir,"  was  the  star's  dignified  reply; 
"I  '11  play  this  part  without  a  costume."  ,, 

The  male  Steelsonites  proceeded  to  perform  the 
most  materially  artistic  work  of  their  lives,  while  their 
sisters  in  misery,  their  hearts  deeply  affected  by  the 
actors'  decision,  refused  an  invitation  to  warm  them 
selves  at  the  kitchen  fire  and  set  the  frosty  air  at 
defiance  by  remaining  close  at  hand  to  cheer  their 
martyr  brethren  by  their  presence  and  an  occasional 
kindly  word  of  encouragement.  Zeke  and  Nancy 
constituted  themselves  bosses  of  the  job. 

An  inclination  to  take  the  centre  of  the  stage,  and 
hold  it  under  all  conditions  and  against  all  comers, 
is  inherent  in  the  breast  of  every  star,  male  or  female. 
Yielding  to  this  inclination,  Mr.  Steelson  chose  for  the 
sphere  of  his  painting  activity  the  highest  place  on 
the  longest  ladder.  Bill  wielded  his  brush  beneath 
him,  incidentally  maintaining  the  equilibrium  of  the 
shaky  support.  Wentworth  and  Henley  selected  the 
other  long  ladder  as  the  base  of  their  operations,  while 
Dodd  perched  himself  on  the  step-ladder.  Smolton, 
remaining  on  terra  firma,  devoted  his  serious  atten 
tion  to  the  lowest  portions  of  the  barn. 

During  the  whole  of  the  work  a  spirit  of  levity  was 

[216] 


*"¥E  GODS!    YE  GODS!'" 


THE   MIGHTY   FALLEN 

never  observable  in  the  demeanor  of  the  professional 
artists,  metamorphosed  for  the  nonce  into  'prentice 
house-painters.  They  regarded  their  situation  solely 
in  its  serious  aspect,  performing  the  common  labor  as 
if  rehearsing  a  tragedy. 

The  star,  in  his  exalted  position  close  to  the  roof 
of  the  barn,  experienced  moments  of  anguish  as  the 
awful  humiliation  of  the  thing  drove  itself  into  his 
mind  with  cruel  force,  rendering  it  impossible  for 
him  to  control  his  feelings. 

During  one  of  these  agitated  moments  he  slapped 
his  brush  against  the  wall  with  so  much  violence  that 
a  liberal  shower  of  paint  drops  besprinkled  Bill,  in 
dustriously  working  below. 

"A  little  easy  with  those  extra  flourishes,  please, 
governor!  "  shouted  the  manager. 

The  star  could  no  longer  suppress  the  tumult  in 
his  soul.  Raising  his  paint  brush  to  heaven  with  a 
supplicating  gesture  he  moaned:  "Ye  gods!  Ye 
gods!" 

There  was  real  pathos  in  his  invocation.  There 
was  real  pathos  in  the  picture  he  presented  when  he 
bravely  recommenced  work  —  his  classical  features, 
his  flowing  locks,  his  high  silk  hat,  his  long  black  coat, 
all  testifying  to  the  hideous  incongruity  of  his  employ 
ment  as  a  common  laborer  for  old  Zeke  Perry! 

He  was  a  veritable  sacrifice  on  the  altar  of  Art;  a 
victim  of  the  squalid  ignorance  of  communities  innocent 

[  219  ] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

of  the  existence  of  Shakespeare;  a  gloomily  inspiring 
statue  personifying  Hard  Luck,  \vith  a  rickety  ladder 
for  a  pedestal! 

At  the  end  of  two  hours  the  barn  was  covered  with 
paint,  and  the  actors  hastily  obeyed  a  call  to  supper, 
which  they  ate  with  more  appetite  than  any  meal  in 
their  histrionic  careers. 


[  220  ] 


CHAPTER  XX 

COUNTING  THE  TIES 

FROM  Bassett  to  Weston  as  the  crow  flies  is 
ten  miles.  From  Bassett  to  Weston  as  the 
railroad  runs  is  twelve  miles. 

Not  possessing  the  crow's  powers  of  flight  nor  the 
money  insisted  upon  for  transportation  by  the  stony 
hearted  corporation  controlling  the  only  rail  service 
between  the  towns,  the  Rupert  Steelson  company 
faced  the  dire  alternative  of  accomplishing  the  distance 
on  foot. 

The  receipts  in  Bassett  were  unthinkably  meagre. 
More  people  stayed  away  from  the  performance  than 
on  any  previous  night  in  the  troupe's  history.  When 
settling-up  time  arrived,  Bill  discovered  that  instead  of 
any  money  coming  in  his  direction  he  was  actually  in 
debt  to  the  local  management  to  the  extent  of  nine 
dollars,  the  sum  required,  in  excess  of  his  portion  of 
the  receipts,  to  meet  his  share  of  advertising  expenses. 

"WTill  you  take  my  I.  O.  U.  for  the  nine  until  I 
come  again?"  he  asked  the  local  manager. 

"  S'pose  I  '11  have  to.  But  bring  a  minstrel  troupe 
along  the  next  time.  My  patrons  don't  want  the  line 
of  goods  you  're  trying  to  sell  this  season." 

[221] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

"That's  no  lie,  old  man,"  coincided  Bill.  He 
glanced  ruefully  at  the  statement,  showing  eleven  seats 
sold  at  fifty  cents  apiece  and  five  at  a  quarter! 

"My  advice  to  all  travelling  managers,"  said  the 
sage  theatrical  magnate  of  Bassett,  "is  to  give  the 
people  what  they  want.  Don't  give  them  what  you 
think  they  ought  to  have.  Don't  try  to  shove  reed- 
birds  down  their  throats  when  they  're  hungry  for 
corned  beef.  Give  'em  what  they  want.  Mark  my 
word,  Truetell,  if  you  keep  on  trying  to  educate  the 
public  you  '11  go  broke,  as  sure  as  my  name  's  Lawton." 

"If  I  was  more  broke  than  at  present,"  remarked 
Bill,  quietly,  "  you  could  n't  find  the  pieces  with  a  mi 
croscope." 

"  There  you  are.  You  'd  have  a  wad  in  your  pock 
et  if  you  'd  given  'em  a  burnt-cork  show  to-night. 
There  is  n't  a  nickel  in  Shakespeare.  Well,  good-night, 
Truetell.  I  must  be  going  home.  My  wife 's  not 
feeling  well.  Jack  here  will  wait  till  the  end  of  the 
show  and  lock  up  the  theatre." 

Jack,  the  manager's  assistant,  an  owlish-looking 
youth  of  eighteen  or  twenty,  grinned  wisely  at  Bill 
when  Lawton  took  his  somewhat  hasty  departure  and 
said: 

"You're  onto  him?" 

"  Sure  thing,"  replied  Bill.  "  He  was  afraid  I  was 
going  to  make  a  touch.  I  knew  better  than  that. 
You  could  n't  get  money  out  of  Lawton  with  burglars' 

[222] 


COUNTING   THE   TIES 

tools.  I  'm  sorry  about  his  wife,  but  she  '11  get  better 
as  soon  as  we  leave.  That  reminds  me,  I  must  go  and 
arrange  for  the  next  jump." 

Bidding  good-night  to  Jack,  he  went  to  the  station 
—  only  to  encounter  the  most  obdurate  station  agent 
of  the  season.  In  vain  Bill  advanced  all  his  stock 
arguments  and  several  impromptu  reasons  why  credit 
should  be  extended  as  far  as  Weston.  The  station 
agent's  unchangeable  reply  was  a  negative. 

When  he  was  thoroughly  convinced  of  the  official's 
firmness,  Bill  walked  to  the  farthermost  end  of  the 
depot  to  hold  a  confidential  interview  with  the  baggage 
agent,  whom  he  bribed  with  his  last  quarter  to  check 
the  troupe's  baggage  to  Weston  on  the  night  freight 
train.  If  there  had  been  any  feasible  way  of  checking 
the  troupe  as  well  Bill  would  have  concluded  an  ar 
rangement  then  and  there,  but  alas!  on  the  night 
freight  there  was  no  caboose  attached  in  which  the 
artists  might  be  stowed;  and  the  advisability  of  their 
riding  in  the  interior  of  the  regular  freight  cars  or  on 
the  roofs  thereof  could  not,  of  course,  be  seriously  en 
tertained. 

After  puzzling  over  the  ticket  problem  until  his 
brain  ached,  Bill,  just  before  going  to  bed  that  night, 
determined  to  execute  the  most  brilliant  coup  of  his  life. 
He  would  absolutely  ignore  the  station  agent  in  the 
morning,  and  board  the  Weston  train  with  the  company 
just  as  confidently  as  if  the  tickets  were  safely  nestling 

[  223] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

in  his  pocket.  The  train  would  start  as  usual,  the 
conductor  would  come  along  as  usual,  and  Bill  in  place 
of  handing  him  the  necessary  colored  slips  of  paste 
board  would  hand  him  an  extemporaneous  plea  even 
more  highly  colored  than  the  tickets,  trusting  to  his 
ready  wit  and  resource  to  persuade  the  railroad  man 
to  allow  them  to  finish  the  journey  to  Weston. 

The  astute  manager,  who  knew  and  had  practised 
every  trick  known  to  his  trade,  had  never  attempted 
a  feat  like  this  before,  and  the  very  fact  made  him  rea 
sonably  sure  of  success.  Since  it  would  be  his  first 
attempt  at  buncoing  a  conductor,  it  was  safe  to  assume 
the  practice  was  not  common  with  other  travelling  one- 
night-stand  impresarios,  consequently  the  experience 
would  probably  be  a  novel  one  for  the  railroad  official. 

In  the  latter  event  Bill  was  positive  he  could  make 
such  an  impression  on  the  inexperienced  mind  of  the 
ticket-taker  that  a  refusal  would  be  well-nigh  impossible. 
In  any  event,  and  entirely  irrespective  of  the  rights  of 
railroad  employees,  the  law  of  common  courtesy  would 
keep  the  conductor  from  pulling  up  his  train  and  eject 
ing  ten  artists  —  Bill  included  himself  in  the  artistic 
summary  —  four  of  them  ladies,  in  the  midst  of  a  deso 
late,  shelterless  country  on  a  freezing  day  in  early  winter ! 
He  would  at  least  suffer  them  to  remain  aboard  under 
compulsion  until  Weston  was  reached,  and  once  there 
Bill  would  prepare  himself  for  any  complication  that 
might  arise. 

[224] 


COUNTING  THE  TIES 

The  more  he  pondered  this  solution  of  his  difficulty 
the  easier  it  appeared.  He  could  not  restrain  a  smile 
at  his  lack  of  ingenuity  in  never  having  thought  of  such 
a  simple  little  ruse  before. 

That  night  he  shared  a  room  at  Perry's  with  the 
five  actors.  Stretched  on  the  floor  were  three  mattresses 
filled  with  hair  —  and  other  substances  that  conveyed 
the  impression  of  cobblestones  to  the  wearied  bodies  of 
the  Steelsonites.  The  star  and  Bill  reposed  side  by 
side.  Dodd  and  the  character  man  were  sharers  of 
the  next  mattress,  and  the  heavy  man  and  the  comedian 
bestowed  themselves  on  the  third. 

Mr.  Steelson  slept  the  sleep  of  the  star  whose  earn 
ings  every  week  run  into  the  thousands,  and  who  plays 
the  whole  of  every  season  in  his  own  theatre  on  Broad 
way.  His  strenuous  physical  exercise  of  the  day  in 
duced  a  slumber  profound  and  refreshing. 

Awakening  with  the  proverbial  lark,  he  arose  in 
excellent  spirits,  and  opened  the  window  to  allow 
the  fresh  morning  air  to  enter  the  stuffy  little  room. 

It  was  a  bright,  clear  day,  and  the  peacefulness  of 
the  rural  surroundings  appealed  to  the  actor's  imagi 
nation  as  he  leaned  out  of  the  window,  and  made  him 
forget  the  awful  trials  and  humiliations  through  which 
he  had  recently  passed.  In  fact,  Mr.  Steelson  was  fast 
arriving  at  a  state  of  perfect  tranquillity  and  hopeful 
ness,  when  he  heard  the  farmer's  rasping  voice  in  the 
yard  below  call  out: 

[225] 


BILL    TRUETELL 

"Nancy!" 

"Yes,  Zeke,"  came  her  shrill  reply  from  the  barn. 

"  Nancy,  hev  ye'  fed  the  chick'ns  ?  " 

"Yes,  Zeke." 

"Got   any  cornmeal   left?" 

"  'Bout  half  a  pailful,  I  reckin." 

"  Wai,  bring  it  inter  the  kitching  and  mush  it  up  for 
the  troupers'  breakfast." 

"Very  wall,  Zeke." 

The  star  hastily  shut  the  window,  and  returned  to 
his  place  on  the  hard  couch  beside  his  manager. 

Nine  o'clock  was  the  train's  leaving  time. 

Before  starting  to  the  depot  Bill  asked  the  farmer, 
"  Do  we  owe  you  anything  ?  " 

"Kin  yer  settle  anything?"  was  the  counter  inter 
rogation. 

"I'm  afraid  not." 

"Then  ye  dun't  owe  me  nothin',"  said  the  rural 
philanthropist.  "The  barn  looks  purty  slick  this 
morning.  'Sides,  I  guess  troupin'  's  a  purty  derned 
slim-payin'  business." 

Zeke  and  Nancy,  shading  their  eyes  with  their  bony 
hands,  stood  at  the  old  gate  and  stared  after  the  little 
band  of  classical  pilgrims  as  they  tramped  down  the 
road.  When  they  were  out  of  sight  the  aged  rustic 
watchers  clasped  their  hands  behind  their  backs,  shook 
their  heads  wonderingly,  and  slowly  scuffled  back  to  the 
farm-house.  Neither  spoke. 

[226] 


COUNTING  THE  TIES 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  after  the  company  arrived  at 
the  station  their  train  rumbled  in.  It  was  then  five 
minutes  after  nine.  The  conductor  alighted  and 
walked  pompously  up  and  down  the  platform  in  all  the 
glory  of  a  new  uniform  of  blue  and  gold.  He  gazed 
with  a  supercilious  air  at  the  station's  surroundings, 
as  though  it  was  beneath  his  dignity  to  tarry  there  even 
for  a  few  moments. 

Bill  noted  his  appearance  and  his  actions  with  grow 
ing  alarm.  The  wonderful  coup  planned  the  night 
before  was  fast  losing  its  brilliancy  in  the  eyes  of  its 
originator. 

"All  aboard.  Step  lively!"  shouted  the  conductor 
with  the  gruffness  of  a  military  officer. 

It  was  too  late  to  back  out.  The  coup,  must  be 
executed,  whatever  the  outcome. 

The  company  boarded  the  train,  the  star  and  man 
ager,  as  usual,  taking  seats  side  by  side. 

Mr.  Steelson  had  partially  recovered  from  the  ner 
vous  shock  he  had  received  at  the  farm-house  window. 

"  Well,  Truetell,"  he  began,  "  here  we  are  again  on 
the  road,  all  well  and  hearty,  and  with  our  troubles, 
thank  God,  behind  us." 

"They  certainly  are  behind  us,"  said  Bill,  glancing 
backward  with  apprehension  as  he  heard  the  conductor 
behind  them  calling  out: 

"Tickets!" 

The  strident  voice  came  nearer  and  nearer. 

[227] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

"Tickets!" 

The  conductor  was  only  two  seats  in  the  rear. 
Bill's  courage,  accompanied  by  his  ready  wit  and  re 
source,  was  leaving  him  in  flying  leaps.  What  he  had 
imagined  would  be  a  simple  little  ruse  now  confronted 
him  as  the  most  gigantic  problem  of  his  life. 

"Tickets!" 

The  conductor  was  standing  at  the  seat  holding 
out  his  hand  expectantly.  The  time  for  the  coup  had 
arrived. 

Springing  to  his  feet  Bill  took  the  official  familiarly 
by  the  arm,  and  said  in  a  low,  confidential  tone : 

"  See  here,  old  man.  I  'm  the  manager  of  this  com 
pany.  I  '11  fix  the  ^transportation  all  right  with  your 
agent  at  Weston.  We  play  there  to-night.  If  you  've 
got  any  friends  there  I  '11  be  glad  to  extend  them  cour 
tesies  and  — 

The  official  rudely  shook  off  Bill's  familiar  clasp  and 
loudly  interrupted  him  with  — 

"  Have  you  got  your  tickets  ?  " 

Bill  replied,  "  Not  exactly.     You  see  the  fact  is  — " 

"  That  don't  go  with  me.  Have  you  got  the  money 
for  your  fares?" 

"I  '11  have  it  in  Weston,  sure." 

The  railroad  man  reached  for  the  bell-rope. 

Bill  grasped  his  arm. 

"  You  would  n't  stop  the  train,  old  man  ?  You 
would  n't  put  us  off  ? "  he  pleaded. 

[228] 


COUNTING  THE  TIES 

The  conductor  answered  with  a  vigorous  yank  on 
the  rope  that  quickly  brought  the  cars  to  a  stand 
still. 

"  Come  now,"  was  his  stern  command.  "  Get  your 
troupe  off  this  train  and  be  lively  about  it.  I  'm 
behind  time  already." 

Bill  was  not  forced  to  the  painful  necessity  of  per 
sonally  transmitting  the  conductor's  order  to  the  com 
pany.  The  merciless  official  had  talked  so  loudly  that 
not  a  syllable  escaped  the  anxious  ears  of  the  artists  or 
the  less  sympathetic  attention  of  all  the  other  passengers 
on  the  car. 

As  the  actors  and  actresses  collected  their  personal 
effects  and  filed  sadly  and  sheepishly  down  the  aisle  tp 
the  door  the  tragic  element  in  the  episode  did  not  appeal 
to  their  more  fortunate  fellow-travellers.  In  their 
eyes  the  affair  was  a  huge  stage  joke  which  must  be 
relished  accordingly;  and  many  a  laugh  grated  on  the 
suffering  nerves  of  the  players.  Leaving  the  car,  they 
formed  themselves  in  a  forlorn  little  group  by  the 
roadside.  There  they  remained,  silently  gazing  after 
the  train  as  it  puffed  its  way  remorselessly  along  until  it 
had  faded  into  a  tiny  streak  of  smoke. 

The  silence  was  broken  by  the  star. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said  solemnly.  "This 
is  not  my  fault  nor  Mr.  TruetelFs.  It  is  Fate.  We 
are  in  the  clutches  of  a  power  that  thus  far  has  seemed 
determined  to  crush  us  out  of  existence." 

[229] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

With  a  more  courageous  note  in  his  voice  he  pro 
ceeded. 

"But  I  have  not  abandoned  hope.  I  feel  we  will 
yet  win  if  we  can  get  to  Weston." 

Turning  to  Bill  he  pointed  significantly  at  the  rail 
road  ties  and  asked, 

"  Truetell,  is  there  no  other  way  than  this  ?  " 

The  manager  mournfully  responded, 

"  I  'd  give  five  years  of  my  life  if  there  was." 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  resumed  the  star,  "1 
have  a  presentiment  that  Weston  will  be  the  turning- 
point  for  us.  If  we  fail  there,  I  will  not  test  your  loy 
alty  any  further.  Shall  we  make  this  last  attempt  ?  " 

What  alternative  remained  to  these  sons  and  daugh 
ters  of  Thespis  ?  Nothing  could  be  gained  by  return 
ing  to  Bassett  as  a  disrupted  organization.  Bassett 
had  already  shown  its  contempt  for  the  classical  drama 
and  its  Steelsonian  exponents.  If  they  went  back, 
what  awaited  them  ?  What  roof  would  shelter  them  ? 
How  would  they  obtain  sustenance  ?  Artistically,  they 
were  already  dead  as  far  as  Bassett  was  concerned. 
How  long  would  they  be  able  to  maintain  physical 
existence  in  that  pitiless  town  ?  Food  and  lodgings 
could  not  be  obtained  without  work,  and  Farmer  Perry 
had  no  more  barns  to  be  painted.  Who  else  would 
give  them  employment? 

Nothing  in  this  crisis,  they  reasoned,  could  be  more 
fatal  than  going  backward. 

[  230] 


COUNTING   THE  TIES 

On  the  other  hand,  how  could  their  interests  be 
served  by  standing  still  on  a  bleak,  cheerless  waste,  at 
least  a  mile  from  civilization  —  if  indeed  that  term 
could  be  appropriately  applied  to  Bassett  ? 

They  must  keep  moving,  somehow  and  in  some 
direction.  Motion,  in  this  frigid  weather,  was  a  vital 
necessity.  The  blood  in  their  veins  cried  out  for  mo 
tion  to  maintain  its  circulation. 

They  must  move.     But  whither? 

That  inscrutable  presiding  arbiter,  Destiny,  holding 
their  fates  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  impelled  them  to  go 
onward.  Before  them  the  twin  lines  of  steel,  running 
on  and  on  until  they  disappeared  in  the  distant  horizon, 
drew  them  forward  like  two  interminable  magnets. 

They  could  not  go  back.  They  could  not  stand  still. 
"Forward,"  was  their  inevitable  watchword.  The 
Dead  March  to  Weston  began. 

There  is  an  unwritten  theatrical  law  that  assigns  a 
manager  to  his  star  whenever  escort  duty  must  be  per 
formed.  In  this  instance  the  law  chained  Bill  to  Mr. 
Steelson  as  they  trudged  over  the  ties,  but  it  did  not 
prevent  him  from  occasionally  glancing  around  at  the 
little  Van  Balken,  who,  under  the  attentive  charge  of 
the  "juvenile  "  man,  brought  up  the  rear  of  the  proces 
sion.  What  Bill  saw  in  these  backward  glances  did  not 
detract  from  his  load  of  misery. 

How  he  accused  himself  for  the  depth  of  degrada 
tion  to  which  the  company  was  reduced !  Had  he  been 

[  231  ] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

a  more  skilful  manager  his  companions  would  have 
been  spared  the  terrible  humiliation  of  walking  from  one 
town  to  another.  An  experience  like  this  had  never 
before  fallen  to  the  lot  of  a  company  under  his  direction. 
Why  did  it  happen  now  ?  Did  it  foreshadow  the  cul 
mination  of  his  misfortunes  ?  What  had  the  future  in 
store  for  him  ?  Nothing  but  the  blackest  shade  of  de 
spair.  There  was  no  hope  for  him,  no  gleam  of  hope. 

Since  Bill's  first  meeting  with  the  Van  Balken  girl 
on  that  never-to-be-forgotten  night  in  the  lobby  of 
the  opera  house  in  Branton,  he  had  frequently  been 
the  prey  of  agonizing  reflections  on  his  business  con 
ditions  and  prospects.  When  the  clouds  hung  darkest 
his  thoughts  turned  to  his  little  protegee  for  the  sun 
shine  that  was  never  denied,  and  somehow  his  troubles 
had  melted  away.  A  telepathic  bond  of  sympathy  had 
been  created  between  them.  Unconsciously  she  had 
become  the  inspiration  of  his  life. 

Before  to-day,  whenever  he  had  seen  the  girl  and 
Dodd  together  on  the  company's  marches  to  hotels 
and  railway  stations,  he  had  succeeded  in  convincing 
himself  that  he  really  ought  not  to  feel  jealous  of  the 
young  actor.  In  a  certain  sense  he  should  be  grateful 
to  him  for  taking  the  place  he  himself  was  temporarily 
prevented  from  filling  by  his  relations  to  Mr.  Steelson. 
Try  as  he  would,  it  had  been  hard  even  to  simulate  any 
sense  of  gratitude  to  Dodd;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
his  trust  in  the  unselfishness  of  the  "juvenile"  man's 

[  232  ] 


COUNTING   THE   TIES 

motives  had  remained  unbroken.  After  conquering  the 
jealousy  that  had  arisen  in  consequence  of  the  scene 
at  her  first  rehearsal,  Bill  had  schooled  himself  to  regard 
Dodd  simply  as  a  substitute  for  himself,  playing  an 
understudy  role,  as  it  were,  and  his  faith  in  the  loyalty 
of  the  girl  was  boundless  as  the  ocean. 

To-day  it  was  different.  His  vision  shadowed  by 
the  contemplation  of  the  company's  awful  plight,  for 
which  he  considered  himself  responsible,  he  saw 
everything  darkly.  In  his  first  glance  over  his  shoulder 
he  noticed  that  the  twain  forming  the  rear-guard  were 
not  accepting  the  situation  as  funereally  as  the  circum 
stances  demanded.  Dodd,  carrying  his  companion's 
valise  as  well  as  his  own,  was  relating  something  that 
must  have  been  agreeable  to  her,  for  Bill  beheld  a 
sparkle  of  pleasure  in  her  eyes.  When  the  manager 
furtively  looked  around  the  second  time,  they  were 
merrily  calculating  the  distances  between  the  railroad 
ties,  leaping  from  one  to  another  in  a  spirit  of  gaiety 
that  roused  no  response  in  Bill's  distressed  soul.  Again, 
he  saw  the  little  Van  Balken  manifesting  an  acrobatic 
tendency  to  walk  on  the  rail,  with  the  faithful  Dodd 
in  close  —  very  close  —  attendance  to  guard  against 
accident. 

So  good  and  complete  an  understanding  appearing 
to  exist  between  them,  Bill  resolved  not  to  add  further 
torture  to  his  mind  by  looking  at  them  again.  When 
ever  the  impulse  to  turn  seized  him  he  fought  it  deter- 

[  233  ] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

minedly,  almost  savagely.  Once,  when  the  girl's  light 
laugh  rang  in  his  ears,  he  yielded  to  the  temptation,  but 
the  sight  of  their  apparent  contentment  was  maddening, 
and  he  quickly  resumed  his  position  with  eyes  directed 
stoically  to  the  front.  Though  he  would  look  at  them 
no  more,  he  could  not  banish  her  image  from  his  mental 
vision.  There  he  could  see  her  bright  and  winsome; 
but  he  also  saw  Dodd  at  her  side.  The  "juvenile" 
man  seemed  to  acquire  the  tenure  of  his  office,  not 
through  any  secondary  privilege  as  the  manager's  sub 
stitute,  but  because  the  place  belonged  by  right  of 
youth  to  him  alone,  and  because  she  elected  to  have 
him  remain. 

"And  why  not?"  whispered  a  tantalizing  little 
demon  in  Bill's  ear.  "Why  should  you  interfere? 
They  are  young.  Let  them  live  their  lives  together. 
You  are  middle-aged.  Your  life  is  behind  you.  She 
has  gratitude  for  you, —  nothing  more.  She  has  love 
for  him, —  love  that  was  ordained  for  youth  and  am 
bition,  not  for  gray  hairs  and  a  wrecked  career.  Per 
form  one  good  act  in  your  life  and  give  her  up  to  him." 

"  Give  her  up  to  him ! "  The  words  dinned  again 
and  again  in  Bill's  ear,  and  rang  in  his  anguished  soul 
long  after  the  little  demon  who  whispered  them  had 
flown  away.  Must  he  give  her  up  to  him?  Why 
should  he  keep  her  for  himself?  What  had  he  to 
offer  to  her  ?  The  ashes  of  a  life  of  failures, —  a 
pretty  gift  for  a  maid  under  twenty! 

[234] 


COUNTING  THE  TIES 

All  his  reasonings  led  to  one  conclusion:  he  must 
give  her  up.  He  did  not  share  the  star's  sanguine 
view  of  the  future.  Weston  would  take  its  place  be 
side  those  other  towns  where  the  company  had  failed 
so  lamentably.  The  tour  would  end  in  Weston. 
Another  fiasco  would  be  added  to  his  managerial  ac 
count.  Convinced  of  his  utter  incapacity  for  business 
success,  he  would  never  try  again.  What  would  be  the 
use  of  trying  if  he  must  give  her  up  ?  And  if  he  tried 
no  more  and  gave  her  up  besides,  what  else  in  the  world 
remained  for  him  ?  Why  should  he  continue  to  try  if 
he  must  give  her  up  ?  Why  should  he  continue  to 
live? 

The  seed  sown  by  the  tantalizing  little  demon  began 
to  bear  fruit.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Bill  Truetell 
seriously  entertained  the  idea  of  self-destruction.  He 
debated  it  in  all  its  phases;  little  by  little,  the  hunted, 
worried  expression  left  his  face  as  the  solemn,  irrev 
ocable  purpose  gradually  settled  upon  it.  Meanwhile 
the  wearisome  tramping  to  Weston  went  steadily  on. 

The  reflections  of  the  eminent  artist  at  Bill's  side 
were  almost  equally  depressing.  The  bravery  dis 
played  in  the  exhortation  to  his  followers  before  the 
march  began  was  soon  lost  in  the  monotonous  counting 
of  the  railroad  ties.  The  star  bore  in  his  left  hand  an 
old  carpet-covered  valise  that  had  been  his  faithful 
companion  in  his  "legitimate"  peregrinations  for 
many  years.  His  right  hand  was  thrust  in  the  breast 

[  235  ] 


BILL    TRUETELL 

of  his  fur-trimmed  coat,  his  head  was  bent  low  and 
meditatively. 

The  suggestion  conveyed  by  his  crushed  demeanor 
was,  "Has  it  come  to  this?"  In  reality  the  tragic 
thought  stirring  Mr.  Steelson's  soul  to  its  depths  was, 
"  Has  it  come  to  this  —  again  ?  " 

He  had  believed  that  the  acquaintanceship  formed 
with  the  railroad  ties  in  his  early  stage  experience 
had  been  broken  off  for  all  time.  Now,  after  a  life 
unselfishly  and  industriously  spent  in  presenting  the 
highest  creations  of  dramatic  art  to  an  unappreciative 
public,  he  found  himself  reverting  to  these  unspeakable 
elementary  conditions!  This,  then,  was  his  reward! 
The  world's  base  ingratitude  to  him  pierced  to  his 
heart's  core  and  he  heaved  a  long  sigh. 

When  another  mile  of  ties  had  been  counted,  Mr. 
Steelson  gravely  said,  "  Will  you  do  me  a  favor,  True- 
tell?" 

"Command  me,  Mr.  Steelson." 

"  Please  request  Mr.  Smolton  to  kindly  discontinue 
his  whistling." 

The  "heavy"  man,  who  had  been  whistling  a 
lively  march  with  the  laudable  motive  of  keeping  up 
the  drooping  spirits  of  the  company,  complied,  and 
entered  into  conversation  with  his  pedestrian  partner, 
Henley.  That  professional  funny  man,  in  accordance 
with  the  habit  prevailing  among  comedians,  had  never 
been  known  to  relax  his  features  while  off  the  stage. 

[  236  ] 


COUNTING   THE  TIES 

Under  the  present  conditions  he  experienced  no  diffi 
culty  in  preserving  his  wonted  gravity. 

The  leading  lady,  with  her  husband  arm  in  arm,  were 
the  next  exhibit  in  the  motley  parade.  Following  them 
came  their  daughter  with  the  corpulent  Mrs.  Jameson. 

Naturally  the  last-mentioned  actress  experienced 
more  physical  distress  from  the  journey  than  her  less 
bulky  associates.  Her  burden  of  avoirdupois  soon 
induced  a  proportionate  scantiness  of  breath.  Assisted 
by  the  ingenue,  she  struggled  along  pluckily  until  more 
than  two  miles  had  been  traversed,  when,  without  a 
word  of  warning,  she  suddenly  collapsed  and  sank 
between  the  rails,  covering  the  space  intervening. 

Instantly  the  march  halted  and  the  players  rushed 
to  the  assistance  of  their  stricken  sister  artiste.  Sin- 
cerest  sympathy  was  depicted  on  every  countenance 
as  they  bent  over  her  prostrate  form.  Mrs.  Jameson 
lay  perfectly  still  for  a  few  minutes,  until  she  recovered 
her  breath  and  her  consciousness.  Then  she  looked 
up  at  the  saddened  faces,  to  realize  that  she  was  the 
object  of  their  tender  compassion. 

It  was  a  situation  that  made  an  immediate  appeal 
to  her  dramatic  instinct.  All  her  life  Mrs.  Jameson 
had  coveted  a  leading  woman's  position  in  the  centre  of 
the  stage,  but  her  lack  of  talent  and  excess  of  fat  had 
conspired  to  prevent  her  from  attaining  her  ambition. 
Now  her  opportunity  had  arrived,  and  she  determined 
to  make  the  most  of  it. 

[237] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

Her  features  assumed  a  cast  of  heroic  resolution  as 
she  feebly  murmured,  "  Go  on  —  and  —  and  —  leave 
me." 

The  ladies  promptly  burst  into  tears,  while  the  men 
with  equal  promptness  and  unanimity  cried  out, 
"Never." 

"  Yes  —  yes  —  you  must  —  leave  me  here,"  in 
sisted  the  fleshy  heroine  of  the  affecting  scene.  She 
turned  imploringly  to  the  star,  who  straightway  dropped 
on  one  knee  and  with  great  effort  raised  her  head  and 
shoulders. 

"Mrs.   Jameson,"   he  begged,   "you  must  live — 
live  for  my  sake." 

If  the  lady  to  whom  he  made  this  emotional  and 
somewhat  stagy  entreaty  had  really  been  in  danger 
of  dying  and  had  been  given  by  the  Creator  of  life  a 
miraculous  option  on  continuing  her  existence,  she 
would  probably  have  chosen  to  live,  primarily  at 
least,  for  her  own  sake.  In  the  present  circumstances, 
with  no  conceivable  probability  of  a  fatal  outcome, 
she  valued  Mr.  Steelson  exclusively  as  a  dramatic 
" feeder"  to  her  scene,  though,  incidentally,  his  emotion 
constituted  a  sweet  revenge  for  all  the  uncongenial 
parts  she  had  been  compelled  to  play  in  his  support. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Steelson  —  dear  Mr.  Steelson,"  she 
gasped,  "  my  time  has  arrived.  But  you  —  you  must 
go  to  Weston.  Do  not  —  do  not  —  disappoint  —  the 
audience." 

[  238  ] 


COUNTING  THE  TIES 

Her  appeal  on  behalf  of  an  audience  that  might 
not  have  a  numerical  existence  worthy  the  name,  made 
a  profound  impression  on  the  star;  but  he  subdued 
the  desire  to  regard  himself  merely  as  a  public  servant 
and  determined  to  be  true  to  the  unfortunate  actress. 

"We  remain  with  you,"  was  his  calm  assurance. 
"Have  no  fear." 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Jameson  did  not  have  the 
slightest  fear  concerning  her  physical  well-being.  The 
rest  had  completely  revived  her.  She  had  recovered 
her  strength  and  was  in  condition  to  continue  the  jour 
ney,  but  the  part  she  was  now  playing  satisfied  her  so 
much  and  had  evidently  scored '  such  a  hit  with  her 
audience  she  simply  could  not  give  it  up. 

"  We  must  move  you  off  the  track  to  the  roadside,'* 
said  Mr.  Steelson  gently;  "a  train  may  come." 

"Let  it  come,"  she  replied;    "leave  me  to  die." 

Her  mind  reverted  to  the  situations  in  blood-and- 
thunder  plays  where  the  leading  lady,  bound  to  a 
railroad  track  by  the  villain,  is  always  rescued  in  the 
nick  of  time  by  the  hero.  She  had  not  the  faintest 
fear  of  being  run  over,  but  she  instantly  lost  her  wish 
to  continue  any  longer  in  the  centre  of  the  stage  on  the 
centre  of  the  track  when  one  of  the  actors  shouted,  "  A 
train  is  coming!" 

The  male  Steelsonites  immediately  lifted  Mrs. 
Jameson  and  deposited  her  on  a  bank  at  a  safe  dis 
tance  from  the  rails.  Several  miles  down  the  road  a 

[241] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

tiny  speck,  gradually  increasing,  was  speeding  in  their 
direction.  As  it  drew  nearer  and  nearer  the  object  re 
solved  itself  into  a  hand-car  propelled  by  two  railroad 
employees. 

Bill  flagged  it  with  his  handkerchief,  and  when  a 
halt  was  made  close  by  them,  he  explained  the  accident 
that  had  befallen  the  actress  and  asked  the  workmen 
to  carry  her  on  their  car  to  Weston  for  medical  assist 
ance. 

"  It 's  ag'in'  the  rules,  and,  besides,  I  'm  afraid  it 
can't  be  did,"  said  one  of  the  men,  after  comparing 
the  dimensions  of  Mrs.  Jameson  with  the  limited 
capacity  of  the  car. 

The  ambitious  artiste,  hearing  his  refusal,  con 
sidered  the  time  most  opportune  for  a  repetition  of 
"Leave  me  here  to  die,"  which  she  delivered  with  ex 
tra  pathos  for  the  special  benefit  of  the  two  additions 
to  her  audience,  who  at  once  fell  under  her  melo 
dramatic  spell. 

There  was  no  longer  any  hesitation  on  the  part  of 
the  workmen,  and  the  actress  was  accordingly  assisted 
to  the  car  and  her  amplitudinous  person  spread  upon 
its  surface.  The  railroad  employees,  with  great  diffi 
culty,  squeezed  themselves  into  the  little  space  remain 
ing,  and  the  hand-car  continued  on  its  way  to  Weston. 

Three  hours  after  it  arrived  the  Steelson  players 
counted  the  last  tie  on  their  Dead  March. 

[242] 


CHAPTER  XXI 

DOWN  AND  OUT 

WHEN  Rupert  Steelson,  clad  in  the  habili 
ments  of  the  dusky  Othello,  made  his  first 
entrance  on  the  stage  of  the  Weston  Opera 
House,  it  was  evident  that  the  stateliness  of  his 
classical  stride  had  not  been  impaired  by  his  ignoble 
pedal  exercise  on  the  railroad  ties.  Indeed,  as  a 
tribute  to  the  recuperative  power  of  this  remarkable 
man,  it  should  be  recorded  that  his  outward  de 
meanor  could  not  have  been  more  composed  that 
evening  had  he  made  the  journey  from  Bassett  to 
Weston  in  a  private  Pullman  car.  Self-satisfaction 
was  stamped  on  his  countenance,  and  as  he  looked 
across  the  footlights  and  beheld  an  audience  of 
comfortable  proportions  his  interior  being  shared  his 
external  composure. 

When  he  came  off  the  stage  after  his  opening  scene, 
Bill,  who  was  waiting  for  him  in  the  wings,  said  eagerly, 
"  Did  you  notice  the  house  ? " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  star;  "  it  looked  good  to  me.  Is 
it  —  is  it  real  money  ?  " 

"Straight    goods    all    right,"    was    Bill's    joyous 

[243] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

response.  "I  took  the  tickets  myself  and  very  few 
passes  came  in.  There  must  be  over  two  hundred  dol 
lars.  We  have  n't  counted  up  yet.  Before  starting  in  I 
thought  I  'd  come  back  and  tell  you  the  good  news." 

6e  Thank  you,  Truetell,"  said  the  star  warmly. 
Holding  the  manager's  hand  in  an  affectionate  grasp 
he  went  on: 

"  Remember,  I  told  the  company  to-day  that  Wes- 
ton  would  be  the  turning-point  for  us.  My  presenti 
ment  has  been  fulfilled.  We  are  entering  a  part  of  the 
country  where  they  know  Shakespeare.  Fortune  will 
shine  on  us  henceforward.  And  you,  Truetell,  who 
have  stood  by  me  so  faithfully,  can  I  ever  thank  you 
enough  ?  " 

"  That 's  all  right,  governor.     I  told  you  I  'd  stick." 

The  men  shook  hands  again  and  again  with  hearty 
fervor.  The  good  news  quickly  spread  among  the 
artists  and  there  was  general  jubilation.  Shortly 
afterward  Bill  returned  to  the  front  of  the  theatre  to 
figure  up  the  exact  extent  of  their  good  luck  and  Mr. 
Steelson  resumed  his  impersonation  of  the  Moor. 

The  star,  whose  pride  had  been  so  cruelly  outraged 
during  the  past  two  days,  was  most  keenly  sensitive 
to  the  change  which  Weston  had  wrought  in  the  status 
of  the  company.  As  he  proceeded  with  the  perform 
ance  his  mind  soared  above  the  raging  jealousy  of 
Othello  and  dwelt  with  supreme  complacency  on  the 
favorable  turn  in  the  tide  of  his  affairs.  He  had  come 

[  244  ] 


DOWN    AND   OUT 

into  his  own  again.  Once  more  he  was  the  object 
of  public  appreciation,  —  not  the  perfunctory  variety 
evoked  from  a  "  dead-head  "  audience,  but  the  genuine 
article  which  leaves  its  gladdening  imprint  in  the  box- 
office. 

The  spectators  noticed  the  genial  gleam  in  the  eyes 
of  the  Moor,  —  strangely  incompatible  with  the  fierce 
ness  of  his  character,  —  but  they  did  not  know  that 
the  soul  of  Mr.  Steelson  was  shining  through  Othello's 
oriental  orbs.  They  did  not  know  it  was  the  actor  and 
not  the  noble  Moor  who  was  looking  at  them,  burning 
with  an  impulse  to  take  them  in  his  arms  and  hold 
them  to  his  grateful  heart. 

For  Mr.  Steelson's  breast  was  surcharged  with  an 
overpowering  sense  of  emotion.  When  the  second 
act  was  finished  and  he  had  retired  to  his  dressing-room, 
his  excess  of  gratitude  clamored  for  an  outlet.  He 
must  offer  thanks  to  some  one;  and  accordingly, 
yielding  to  a  sudden  religious  impulse,  the  actor  fell 
on  his  knees  and  breathed  a  prayer  of  thanks 
giving. 

Bill ,  entering  silently  without  giving  his  accustomed 
knock,  paused  abashed  before  the  kneeling  Othello. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  apologized  the  manager. 

The  star  stood  up  and  rested  his  hand  on  Bill's 
shoulder. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  he  said,  "  I  simply  could  n't 
help  it.  I  have  n't  prayed  in  twenty  years,  but  to- 

[  245  ] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

night  my  heart  told  me  to  thank  the  God  of  Shake 
speare  for  not  abandoning  us." 

As  Bill  tried  to  speak  he  experienced  a  choking 
sensation  and  he  turned  his  head  to  one  side. 

"Old  friend,"  continued  the  star  most  feelingly, 
"I  know  your  sensitive  nature.  Do  not  endeavor  to 
conceal  it.  This  affects  you  as  deeply  as  myself.  We 
both  have  suffered  so  much  and  we  both  have  been 
loyal  to  Shakespeare.  Do  you  wonder  why  I  wanted 
to  thank  his  God  for  rewarding  our  loyalty?" 

Controlling  his  emotion  Bill  said  gravely,  "Mr. 
Steelson,  I  'm  afraid  Shakespeare's  God  has  n't  got 
any  thanks  coming  to  him  to-night." 

The  star  took  alarm  at  once. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Truetell?  Let  me  see  the 
statement!" 

He  snatched  a  slip  of  paper  from  Bill's  hand, 
glanced  at  it,  and  cried: 

"Two  hundred  and  sixty-four  dollars!  Why, 
that 's  more  than  you  expected,  Truetell.  What  makes 
you  look  at  me  so  sadly?" 

"There's  another  paper  I  must  show  you." 

"Another  statement?" 

"Another  kind  of  a  statement,  Mr.  Steelson." 

He  handed  the  star  a  writ  of  attachment. 

"It  was  served  on  our  share  of  the  receipts,"  was 
Bill's  mournful  explanation.  "The  sheriff  took  every 
cent  that  was  coming  to  us." 

[246] 


DOWN   AND   OUT 

Had  Mr.  Steelson  been  smitten  with  a  stroke  of 
paralysis  the  effect  could  not  have  been  more  disastrous. 
His  jaw  dropped  and  he  collapsed  on  his  seat,  a  paper 
in  each  hand,  looking  from  one  to  the  other  in  be 
wildered  amazement,  absolutely  unable  to  utter  a  word 
of  comment. 

When  he  had  partially  recovered  his  power  of 
speech  he  gasped: 

"  Who  —  who  —  is  —  responsible  for  —  this  —  this 
outrage  ?  " 

"Several  of  our  creditors  pooled  their  claims  and 
put  up  this  job  on  us,"  replied  Bill;  "and  I  haven't 
told  you  all." 

"Not  all!"  moaned  the  star.  "Can  there  be  any 
more  misery  for  us  in  this  world?" 

"There  certainly  is,"  was  Bill's  subdued  response. 
"  The  sheriff  's  attached  the  scenery  and  he  's  got  body 
writs  for  you  and  me." 

"Body  writs!"  echoed  the  startled  actor. 

The  term  was  new  to  him,  and  it  conveyed  to  his 
apprehensive  mind  the  suggestion  of  physical  torture, 
if  not  of  actual  capital  punishment. 

"Body  writs,"  said  the  manager  again.  "Our 
creditors  knew  that  in  this  State  you  can  attach  a 
man's  body  as  well  as  his  goods,  and  they  Ve  gone 
the  limit.  If  we  don't  get  the  bond  for  three  hun 
dred  dollars  that  is  needed,  in  addition  to  our  scenery 
and  receipts,  to  cover  their  claims,  we  must  go  to 

[247] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

jail.  The  sheriff  's  waiting  for  us  now  outside  your 
door." 

The  star  turned  to  the  door  in  a  horror  that  was 
suddenly  augmented  when  the  portal  was  rudely  thrown 
open  by  a  rawboned,  rawfaced  countryman  who 
bounded  into  the  dressing-room  and  clapped  his  hand 
on  Bill's  collar. 

"Ye  can't  lose  me,  Charley,"  he  said  with  a  diabol 
ical  leer.  "I  dun't  pr'pose  to  cool  my  heels  outside 
the  door  all  night.  Whar 's  the  Steelson  feller?" 

"This  is  Mr.  Steelson,"  said  Bill,  pointing  to  the 
agonized  figure  of  Othello  in  the  chair. 

"Ye  can't  fool  me,  old  sport.  That  ain't  Steelson. 
That's  a  coon." 

The  figure  of  Othello  arose  from  his  seat  and  gazed 
with  infinite  scorn  at  his  calumniator,  meanwhile  finger 
ing  unconsciously  the  dagger  in  his  belt. 

"Dun't  ye  pull  that  sticker  on  me,  ye  damned 
nigger,"  cried  the  sheriff.  "  If  ye  do  I  '11  fill  ye  so  full 
o'  holes  there  '11  be  nothin'  left  for  a  lynchin'." 

He  drew  an  elongated  pistol  from  his  hip  pocket 
and  executed  a  war-dance  about  the  dressing-room, 
brandishing  his  weapon  at  the  star,  whose  feelings 
under  these  bloodthirsty  conditions  may  possibly  be 
imagined,  but  could  not  be  pictured  by  anything  less 
than  a  pen  dipped  in  inspiration. 

With  the  utmost  difficulty  Bill  finally  succeeded  in 
calming  the  enraged  official.  His  last  and  most  effective 

[248] 


DOWN   AND   OUT 

quiet-restorer  was  an  offer  to  remove  part  of  Othello's 
make-up  and  prove  Mr.  Steelson's  identity.  When  the 
sheriff  saw  the  burnt  cork  rubbed  off  he  recovered  his 
equanimity,  and  an  earnest  council  was  held. 

Although  the  Weston  officer  of  the  law  evinced  a 
willingness  to  listen  to  the  pleading  declarations  of  the 
star  and  his  manager,  he  nevertheless  adhered  to  a 
stubborn  determination  not  to  take  a  step  out  of  the 
beaten  path  of  duty  as  he  interpreted  it.  The  two 
men  were  in  his  personal  custody,  where  they  must 
remain  until  he  escorted  them  to  the  town  jail,  unless 
the  necessary  bail  was  forthcoming.  The  latter  con 
tingency  was  too  improbable  for  serious  consideration. 
Bill  smiled  sardonically  at  Mr.  Steelson's  suggestion  to 
ask  the  local  manager  to  furnish  the  bond,  and  said, 
"He  would  n't  do  it  for  his  own  father." 

Since  neither  the  star  nor  his  business  associate  had 
a  solitary  personal  acquaintance  in  Weston,  there  was 
absolutely  nothing  between  them  and  a  pair  of  prison 
cells  if  the  sheriff  could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  smooth 
the  rugged  letter  of  the  law  with  a  little  clemency. 

His  victims  made  appeal  after  appeal,  but  all  to 
no  purpose. 

"  Wai,"  he  finally  drawled.  "  Guess  I  've  heard  all 
you  chaps  have  got  to  offer,  and  now  ye  'd  better  git 
ready  and  come  'long  with  me.  I  '11  wait  h'yar,  Steel- 
son,  till  yer  wash  that  coon  paint  off  yer  mug  and  git 
civilized  agin." 

[249  ] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

"Do  you  want  me  to  disappoint  the  audience!" 
The  star,  though  his  heart  was  torn  by  his  own  mis 
fortunes,  was  humanely  considerate  of  the  spectators 
who  had  paid  their  money  for  an  entire  performance. 

"  The  audience  's  got  nothin'  to  do  with  this  h'yar 
case,"  declared  the  sheriff. 

Mr.  Steelson  nobly  espoused  the  cause  of  the  people 
in  the  auditorium  since  they  could  not  plead  on  their  own 
behalf.  He  was  willing,  he  said,  to  go  to  prison  after 
the  performance  was  over,  but  the  innocent  should  not 
suffer  with  the  guilty.  The  play  must  go  on.  To  aid 
his  self-sacrificing  attitude  he  called  attention  to  the 
applause  in  the  theatre  now  plainly  audible,  testifying 
to  the  anxiety  of  the  spectators  for  the  long  wait  to 
conclude  and  the  next  act  to  begin. 

This  striking  phase  of  the  situation  produced  a 
certain  effect  on  the  sheriff,  though  it  did  not  diminish 
his  resolution  to  stick  to  his  two  prisoners  until  they 
were  safely  landed  behind  the  bars.  As  a  compromise 
he  announced  his  willingness  to  allow  the  star  to  appear 
in  the  remaining  scenes,  with  the  express  understanding, 
however,  that  he  should  always  be  in  close  attendance 
at  the  actor's  side,  even  while  he  was  on  the  stage.  He 
was  not  aware  of  any  incongruity  in  the  presence  of 
a  modern  Weston  sheriff  wandering  beside  the  canals 
of  the  Venice  of  the  Renaissance,  nor  could  he  appre 
ciate  the  effect  such  an  anachronism  would  have  on 
the  spectators. 

[250] 


DOWN   AND   OUT 

This  point  was  argued  at  length,  until  the  officer 
made  a  further  concession.  He  reluctantly  renounced 
his  determination  to  act  as  Othello's  side  partner  in 
the  play,  and  accepted  the  offer  of  a  position  in  the  first 
upper  entrance,  where  he  could  watch  every  movement 
of  the  actor  and  be  ready  to  head  him  off  if  he  made  a 
dash  for  liberty  over  the  footlights.  The  manager, 
it  was  agreed,  should  never  leave  the  side  of  his  legal 
custodian.  This  strict  guard  over  the  two  defendants 
was  maintained  during  the  rest  of  the  performance. 

When  the  tragedy  of  "Othello"  ended,  the  tragedy 
of  Steelson  moved  grimly  on.  With  no  means  for  ac 
commodations  either  at  the  hotel  or  in  the  cheapest 
boarding-house  in  town,  the  members  of  the  company 
were  forced  to  the  necessity  of  spending  the  night  in  the 
dressing-rooms  of  the  theatre,  utilizing  their  trunks  for 
couches. 

The  star  and  the  manager  were  not  even  permitted 
to  share  the  scant  shelter  the  dressing-rooms  afforded. 
Failing  to  obtain  the  requisite  security  for  the  bond, 
they  were  escorted  by  the  zealous  sheriff  to  the  village 
"lock-up,"  where  they  were  unceremoniously  incar 
cerated  in  two  dark,  damp,  and  dismal  cells  directly 
opposite  each  other  on  an  equally  dark,  damp,  and 
dismal  corridor. 

In  each  cell  a  rough  wooden  bench,  the  sole  article 
of  furniture,  offered  a  resting-place;  but  neither  of  the 
men  was  in  the  humor  for  sleep. 

[251] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

When  the  jailer,  after  securely  locking  them  in,  had 
left  for  the  night,  they  stood  long  and  silently  at  the 
doors  pressing  their  woe-begone  faces  against  the  cold 
bars.  Their  minds  were  flooded  with  misery, —  misery 
that  defied  their  power  of  speech  for  adequate  expres 
sion.  They  could  not  see  each  other's  faces  across 
the  Stygian  gloom.  They  could  not  read  each  other's 
thoughts,  but  each  knew  he  was  not  alone  on  the  rack 
that  was  torturing  his  poor  soul  almost  beyond  human 
endurance. 

Mr.  Steelson  was  the  first  to  speak.  There  were 
tears  in  the  stricken  actor's  eyes  and  an  ill-concealed  sob 
in  his  voice. 

"Truetell,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  governor." 

"Stretch  out  your  hand,  please,  through  the  bars 
as  far  as  it  will  go  toward  me." 

The  hand  of  the  manager  went  on  its  mission  and 
met  the  warm  clasp  of  the  star.  "  You  are  not  vexed 
with  me,  Truetell  ?  "  He  asked  the  question  in  a  tone 
of  almost  childish  entreaty. 

"  Vexed  with  you,  governor !  Why  should  I  be  vexed 
with  you?" 

"  I  induced  you  to  go  with  me  on  this  tour,  and  here 
we  are  in  this  place, —  this  stepping-stone  to  hell." 

Bill  endeavored  to  reassure  him  with,  "  It  is  n't 
your  fault,  Mr.  Steelson." 

"It  is  my  fault.    I  can't  help  blaming  myself." 

[252] 


DOWN   AND   OUT 


"You  are  wrong,  governor,"  Bill  spoke  gently  but 
authoritatively,  giving  due  emphasis  to  each  word  as 
he  slowly  uttered  it.  "  You  hit  the  nail  on  the  head 
to-day.  It  is  n't  your  fault,  nor  my  fault.  It  is  Fate. 


THE  HAND  OF  THE  MANAGER  MET  THE  WARM  CLASP  OF 
THE  STAR  " 


That 's  exactly  what  it  is  —  Fate.  Our  meeting  in 
Battery  Park  was  n't  accidental.  It  was  destined  to 
be.  Fate  started  this  show  going.  Fate  kept  it  going 
through  all  our  troubles.  Now  Fate  has  closed  us  up 
without  even  the  usual  two  weeks'  notice." 

A  bitter  strain  showed  itself  in  Bill's  voice  as  his 
pessimistic  summing  up  of  their  position  continued. 

[253] 


BILL    TRUETELL 

"Everything  that  has  happened  on  this  tour  has 
had  Fate  at  the  back  of  it.  There  was  no  chance 
about  anything.  Some  of  us  never  had  a  look-in, 
though  we  were  foolish  enough  to  think  we  had. 
Fate  's  the  toughest  game  of  all  to  go  up  against. 
Never  again  for  mine." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Truetell  ?  "  asked  the  star  in 
mingled  wonderment  and  sympathy. 

"I  mean,  I  'm  down  and  out,  and  I  know  it." 

"  Are  n't  we  both  down  and  out,  dear  friend  ?  " 

"Not  for  keeps.     You  '11  try  again,  Mr.  Steelson." 

"And  so  will  you,  Truetell.  Next  time  you  may 
succeed." 

Bill  gave  a  short  forced  laugh,  so  peculiar  in  its 
significance  that  the  star  asked  with  earnestness:  , 

"What  makes  you  say  so  positively  you  won't  try 
again  ?  " 

"I  know  I  won't  try  again,"  was  the  decisive  re 
sponse. 

"  Don't  take  this  too  much  to  your  own  heart,  my 
dear  Truetell.  Any  man  would  be  despondent  in  an 
awful  crisis  like  this." 

"It  is  n't  the  crisis  alone  with  me,"  said  Bill,  with 
increasing  bitterness.  "It 's  —  it 's  everything." 

"  Everything  ?  "  repeated  the  actor. 

"  Yes,  everything  in  the  world.  Oh,  what  's  the  use! 
What's  the  use!" 

He  gripped  the  bars  of  the  door  and  shook  them 

[254] 


DOWN   AND   OUT 

until  the  iron  clanged  a  harsh  accompaniment  to  his 
agony. 

All  the  emotion  in  the  star's  nature  went  out  at  once 
and  unselfishly  to  his  friend's  distress. 

"Truetell!"  he  exclaimed.  "You  talk  like  a 
changed  man.  Take  me  into  your  confidence.  Give 
me  your  hand  again." 

Their  hands  met,  but  Bill  made  no  answer. 

"  Dear  old  friend,"  said  the  star,  "  is  there  no  way 
I  can  help  you  ?  " 

"There  is  no  way,  governor." 

There  was  a  long  pause,  while  the  actor  strove  in 
vain  to  pierce  the  intervening  darkness  and  search  his 
companion's  countenance  for  a  key  to  his  strange  de 
monstration. 

At  last  he  said:  "I  think,  after  all,  what  we  both 
need  is  sleep.  Our  nerves  are  overwrought.  To 
morrow  we  may  see  a  way  out  of  our  troubles.  Let  us 
try  to  rest.  Good-night,  and  God  bless  you,  True- 
tell!" 

"  Thank  you,  governor.     Good-night." 

The  men  shook  hands  again  across  the  narrow 
corridor.  Mr.  Steelson  at  once  laid  down  on  his  bench, 
and  with  the  assistance  of  that  elastic  temperament 
which  can  accommodate  itself  to  all  conditions  of  life 
off  the  stage  as  well  as  on  it,  he  soon  fell  asleep. 

Bill  did  not  lie  down.  He  sat  on  the  edge  of  the 
hard  couch  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  while  his 

[255] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

brain  once  more  gave  battle  to  the  problem  he  thought 
he  had  conquered  that  afternoon  on  the  plodding 
journey  to  Weston. 

The  star's  words,  "To-morrow  we  may  see  a  way 
out  of  our  troubles,"  had  reopened  the  vital  question, 
but  to-morrow  seemed  ages  away.  He  must  come  to  a 
final  decision  to-night.  Perhaps,  after  all,  there  might 
be  some  way  by  which  he  could  live  without  abandon 
ing  all  hope  of  her.  In  the  theatrical  history  of  the 
country  there  had  been  instances  of  managers  who  had 
risen,  almost  overnight,  from  poverty  to  wealth  through 
a  sudden  stroke  of  good  fortune.  It  was  like  digging  in 
a  mine.  Every  season  some  men  found  the  golden 
vein.  If  he  should  ever  become  one  of  that  fortunate 
number,  why  should  he  not  claim  the  girl  by  a  right 
prior  and  paramount  to  anybody's  else  ?  Why  should 
he  renounce  her  altogether  now  and  quit  the  world  like 
a  coward  ? 

But  his  hesitancy,  the  time  of  night,  and  the  pitchy 
darkness  of  his  cell  were  all  favorable  conditions  for 
another  visit  from  his  tantalizing  little  demon  adviser. 

"You  decided  rightly  this  afternoon.  Give  her  up 
to  him,  and  do  not  continue  to  live  as  a  reminder  of 
the  gratitude  she  should  always  feel  towards  you. 
With  you  out  of  the  way  their  lives  will  be  free  from 
any  sentiment  except  the  love  they  bear  each  other. 
Why  should  you  wish  to  remain  as  the  only  blot  on 
their  happiness  ?  In  a  position  like  yours,  it  is  not 

[256] 


DOWN   AND   OUT 

cowardly  to  quit  the  world.  It  is  your  irresolution 
that  is  cowardly.  A  brave  man,  seeing  things  as  they 
really  are,  would  not  hesitate.  Success  is  not  for  you, 
either  in  business  or  in  love.  You  know  it,  and  yet 
you  go  on  throwing  dust  in  your  eyes  to  prevent  your 
self  from  seeing  the  truth.  Accept  the  inevitable. 
There  is  no  other  way." 

The  little  demon  vanished.  Hour  after  hour  Bill 
sat  in  the  darkness,  his  head  buried  in  his  hands. 
As  the  morning  sun  began  to  shine  he  lay  down 
wearily  on  the  rough  bench,  but  sleep  refused  to  visit 
his  tired  eyes.  Mentally,  he  was  still  wide  awake; 
and  in  his  mind  there  still  remained  the  vision,  clear, 
distinct,  and  ineffaceable,  of  two  young  lives,  supremely 
content  and  happy  in  each  other's  company. 


[257] 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  IMP  OF  SUICIDE 

THE  shipwreck  of  the  Steelson  Company,  and  the 
jailing  of  its  star  and  his  manager,  furnished 
the  most  noteworthy  sensation  the  town  of  Wes- 
ton  had  known  since  its  almost  total  destruction  forty 
years  before.  On  that  memorable  occasion  the  thriv 
ing  young  municipality  became  the  toy  of  a  sport 
ively  disposed  cyclone,  which  unceremoniously  swept 
it  up  and  carried  it  along  until  it  grew  tired  of  its  play 
thing  and  dropped  the  ruins  somewhere  in  a  neighbor 
ing  county.  The  few  inhabitants  whom  the  cyclone 
considerately  left  alive  to  tell  the  story  transmitted 
some  of  the  actual  details  and  many  imaginative  em 
bellishments  to  succeeding  generations  of  Westonians. 
As  the  years  passed  by  the  event  increased  in  impor 
tance.  Every  day  the  whittling  graybeards  on  the 
sugar-barrels  in  the  corner  grocery  related  the  occur 
rence  to  awe-stricken  audiences;  and  every  night  the 
children,  after  the  lights  were  put  out,  rehearsed  the 
story  to  each  other  in  hushed  whispers. 

Nobody  in  Weston,  old  or  young,  ever  expected 
that  a  rival  event  to  the  cyclone  would  or  could  take 

[258] 


THE   IMP  OF   SUICIDE 

place  in  the  same  century;  but  when  the  particulars 
of  the  Steelson  catastrophe  were  made  known  to  the 
residents,  they  realized  immediately  that  the  unex 
pected  had  actually  happened,  and  that  another  epoch 
was  marked  in  the  town's  history. 

Although  Weston  could  not  boast  of  a  morning 
newspaper, —  nor,  for  that  matter,  of  an  evening  news 
paper,  or  a  weekly  newspaper,  the  only  local  publica 
tion  being  semi-monthly, —  the  wonderful  news  spread 
so  fast  that  by  ten  o'clock  the  town  was  talking  of 
nothing  else.  The  corner  grocery  rapidly  filled  to  a 
suffocation  point.  Little  knots  of  gossipers  stood  about 
the  "lock-up"  and  stared  at  the  windows  of  the  cap 
tives'  cells,  while  comments  on  the  cause  and  effect  of 
the  imprisonment  were  as  varied  as  they  were 
interesting. 

The  most  striking  commentary  on  the  occurrence 
was  expressed  by  a  stout  female  to  a  circle  of  eager 
feminine  listeners,  who  learned  from  her  the  thrilling 
intelligence  that  the  star  had  been  arrested  for  smoth 
ering  his  wife  in  the  last  act  of  the  play.  In  her 
opinion  hanging  was  altogether  too  easy  for  him. 
The  speaker  was  rapidly  working  herself  and  her 
hearers  to  a  pitch  of  passionate  resentment,  which 
might  have  culminated  in  the  storming  of  the  jail, 
when  she  suddenly  remembered  her  baby,  which  she 
had  "  left  with  the  woman  upstairs,"  and  hurried  home 
to  discharge  her  maternal  duties. 

[259] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

In  general,  public  sentiment  ranged  itself  on  the 
side  of  the  Steelsonites.  Nobody,  however,  gave  evi 
dence  of  an  inclination  to  extend  anything  more  sub 
stantial  than  sympathy  to  the  unfortunates,  until  the 
news  reached  the  office  of  John  Williams,  a  humani 
tarian  by  nature  and  judge  of  the  "  deestrict  "  court  by 
practice.  This  benevolent  gentleman,  who  had  been 
an  admiring  spectator  of  the  performance  of  "  Othello," 
did  not  wait  for  the  case  to  come  before  him  for  judicial 
settlement.  He  put  on  his  soft  felt  hat,  picked  up  his 
ivory-knobbed  stick,  and  made  a  bee-line  for  the  cell 
of  Rupert  Steelson. 

The  two  men  held  an  earnest  consultation  for  half 
an  hour.  Then  they  heartily  gripped  one  another's 
hands  and  the  judge  briskly  walked  away,  his  face 
beaming  with  good  intentions,  while  the  star's  counte 
nance  shone  with  gratitude. 

During  the  interview  Bill  lay  on  his  bench  in  the 
opposite  cell. 

When  the  visitor  left,  the  star  called  softly,  "True- 
tell!" 

He  could  see  the  manager's  body  through  the  bars 
of  the  door.  It  made  no  move.  He  called  again  in  a 
louder  voice.  Still  there  was  no  responsive  movement. 

A  horrible  thought  flashed  through  the  star's 
mind,  and  he  shouted  loudly,  "Truetell!" 

The  figure  in  the  opposite  cell  yawned,  stretched 
its  legs,  and  rose  to  its  feet. 

[260] 


THE   IMP   OF   SUICIDE 

"Thank  God! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Steelson. 

Bill  came  to  the  cell  door  and  sleepily  inquired, 
"What 's  the  matter,  governor?  " 

"You  gave  me  an  awful  start,  Truetell.  I  was 
afraid  after  the  way  you  talked  last  night  that  — 
that  something  had  happened." 

Bill  smiled  curiously. 

"Would  it  be  such  a  frightful  thing  after  all?" 
he  asked. 

"Frightful,  indeed;  especially  under  the  new  con 
ditions." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  told  you  we  might  see  a  way  out  of  our  troubles 
to-day.  Our  salvation  has  come  sooner  than  I  ex 
pected." 

"  Our  salvation  ?  " 

"  Yes;  Judge  Williams  brought  it.  He  will  save  us. 
Think  of  it,  Truetell!" 

Bill  rubbed  his  eyes. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  he  said.  "  I  'm  not  wide 
awake  yet.  You  see,  I  did  n't  sleep  at  all  last 
night." 

"I  guessed  as  much,  dear  friend,"  said  the  star; 
"  and  that  is  why  I  did  n't  like  to  wake  you  this  morn 
ing,  even  while  the  judge  was  here ;  you  seemed  to  be 
resting  so  soundly.  I  gave  him  all  the  facts  he  wanted, 
and  now  he  has  gone  to  settle  all  of  our  troubles.  He 
will  arrange  the  bond  for  the  sheriff,  he  will  secure 

[261] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

transportation  to  New  York,  and  meanwhile  he  will 
lodge  the  company  in  the  hotel." 

Bill  looked  at  the  star  incredulously. 

"You  are  joking  with  me." 

"  On  my  word  of  honor,"  declared  the  actor. 

"And  why  does  he  do  all  this  for  people  he  never 
saw  before  ?  " 

"There  are  three  reasons.  He  is  one  of  God's 
noblemen,  he  loves  Shakespeare,  and  he  wears  one 
of  these." 

Mr.  Steelson  pointed  to  a  button  of  a  famous  fra 
ternal  organization  on  the  lapel  of  his  coat. 

"You  see,  Truetell,"  resumed  the  star,  with  en 
thusiasm.  "  There  's  something  in  the  world  worth 
living  for,  after  all.  It  can't  be  such  a  hopeless  world 
as  we  think  it  is  when  it  can  produce  a  man  like  Judge 
Williams.  He  is  a  born  philosopher.  He  counselled 
me  not  to  worry.  Worry,  he  says,  does  more  harm 
than  real  misfortunes,  and  we  endure  the  most  suffer 
ing  from  calamities  that  never  occur." 

Bill  began  to  take  a  renewed  interest  in  life. 

"Does  the  judge  mean,"  he  inquired,  "that  trou 
bles  that  seem  to  us  to  be  the  most  —  the  most  —  fatal, 
are  often  only  imaginary  ?  " 

"  That  5s  his  doctrine  exactly,  and  he  contends  that 
the  experiences  of  men  prove  it  to  be  true." 

After  giving  the  subject  careful  thought  a  new  hope 
entered  Bill's  heart. 

[262] 


THE   IMP   OF   SUICIDE 

"Perhaps  he's  right,"  he  said.  "Perhaps  he's 
right.  Anyhow,  I  '11  gamble  this  once  on  his  opinion. 
You  '11  forget  my  —  my  little  spasm  of  last  night,  won't 
you,  Mr.  Steelson  ?  " 

"Let  us  forget  everything,  Truetell,  except  our 
gratitude  to  Judge  Williams  and  to  the  God  of  Shake 
speare  who  sent  him  to  us.  I  prayed  to  Him  again 
last  night  before  going  to  sleep,  and  He  answered  me." 

The  sincerity  of  his  faith  led  his  companion  to  say 
in  all  seriousness,  "Governor,  there  may  be  some 
thing  in  this  religious  business.  One  of  these  days 
I  '11  have  a  try  at  it  myself." 

"Don't  put  it  off  too  long,  Truetell.  I  told  you 
last  night  in  my  dressing-room  I  had  n't  prayed  for 
twenty  years.  What  has  been  the  result  ?  Twenty 
years  of  failures  and  heartaches.  I  thought  I  could 
win  without  divine  assistance.  I  was  mistaken.  We 
all  need  the  help  of  an  arm  stronger  than  our  own. 
Hereafter  Shakespeare's  God  shall  be  my  God,  and 
if  I  live  to  be  a  hundred  years  old  I  will  pray  to  Him 
every  night  of  my  life.  He  will  aid  me  to  succeed. 
I  know  it." 

The  actor,  grasping  the  iron  bars  high  above  his 
head,  confronted  his  companion  with  an  expression  so 
reverential  and  uplifting  that  Bill  partook  of  the  in 
spiration  of  the  moment.  He  could  feel  himself  re 
gaining  the  ardor  of  his  old-time,  self-reliant  manhood. 
Again  he  became  a  courageous  fighter,  whom  defeat 

[263] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

after  defeat  could  not  down.  His  worries  dwindled 
from  gigantic  mountains  to  insignificant  molehills, 
across  the  tops  of  which  he  could  see  his  future  radiant 
and  successful.  Radiant  and  successful  indeed,  for  his 
vision  was  clarified  on  all  subjects  and  he  could  discern 
the  truth  in  the  relationship  between  his  little  protegee 
and  the  young  actor.  How  his  soul  was  gladdened  with 
this  revelation!  He  had  been  a  blind  fool  in  imagining 
that  anything  but  mere  comradeship  existed  between 
the  youthful  pair.  She  was  destined  for  him, —  for  him, 
Bill  Truetell!  The  little  demon  that  whispered  in  his 
ear  was  an  imp  of  suicide,  instilling  poison  in  his  mind 
and  luring  him  on  to  die  by  his  own  hand.  It  was  all 
so  clear  to  him  now,  he  trembled  at  his  narrow  escape. 
At  his  narrow  escape  ?  At  their  narrow  escape.  What 
could  be  more  horrifying  than  the  thought  of  killing 
himself,  and  she  really  caring  for  him  ?  An  eternity  of 
regret  for  them  both !  But  his  sense  of  perception  was 
no  longer  distorted;  he  saw  the  light  at  last.  Why 
should  he  not  join  the  star  in  nightly  prayers  of 
thanksgiving  to  the  God  of  Shakespeare! 

The  keeper  of  the  jail  announced  Smolton.  The 
"heavy"  man  rushed  down  the  narrow  corridor. 
Standing  between  the  cell  doors  he  shook  hands 
heartily  and  simultaneously  with  the  star  and  the 
manager. 

"It 's  all  right,"  he  panted.  "Everything  's  being 
arranged  in  fine  shape.  Judge  Williams  sent  me  to 

[264] 


THE   IMP   OF   SUICIDE 

tell  you.  You  '11  be  released  in  an  hour,  and  we  leave 
for  New  York  in  the  morning.  The  judge  told  me  to 
stop  at  the  station  and  engage  the  eight  tickets." 

"The  eight  tickets,"  said  Mr.  Steelson.  "Why, 
there  are  ten  of  us." 

"Oh,  I  forgot  to  tell  you,"  Smolton  explained. 
"Dodd  wired  to  his  folks  last  night  for  money.  It 
came  this  morning,  and  he  had  enough  to  buy  tickets 
for  himself  and  the  Van  Balken  girl.  They  left  on  the 
noon  train." 

He  winked  mysteriously  as  he  divulged  this  in 
telligence. 

"  Where  did  they  go  to  ?  "  asked  the  star. 

"Back  to  New  York,  of  course,"  was  the  reply, 
"  and  they  '11  wind  up  in  the  Little  Church  Around 
the  Corner  before  they  're  many  days  older.  Anybody 
with  half  an  eye  could  tell  that." 

"By  the  way,"  Smolton  went  on,  turning  to  Bill, 
"she  wanted  to  see  you  before  she  left,  but  Dodd 
said  they  just  had  time  to  catch  the  train  and  hurried 
her  away." 

Like  a  drowning  man  clutching  at  a  straw  Bill 
asked  in  a  dry,  lifeless  voice,  "Did  she  say  why  she 
wished  to  see  me  ?  " 

"No,  but  I  suppose  she  wanted  you  to  give  them 
your  blessing,"  was  the  answer  of  the  stage  villain. 

The  imp  of  suicide  flew  back  triumphantly  to  the  ear 
of  its  victim. 

[265] 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

MAKING  HIS  "LAST  JUMP" 

JUDGE  WILLIAMS  rounded  out  his  imperson 
ation  of  the  good  fairy  role  by  going  to  the 
station  in  the  morning  to  see  the  company 
safely  off  for  New  York.  The  star  and  Bill  stood  on 
the  rear  car  platform  as  the  train  pulled  out,  waving 
a  parting  salute  to  their  benefactor,  whose  genial 
countenance  bespoke  the  genuine  satisfaction  he  was 
deriving  from  the  consciousness  of  duty  well  per 
formed. 

When  his  kindly  figure  was  lost  to  view  and  Mr. 
Steelson  and  his  manager  were  entering  the  car,  the 
latter  said : 

"  If  you  don't  mind,  governor,  I  '11  take  a  seat  by 
myself.  I  've  had  hardly  any  rest  the  last  two  nights, 
and  I  think  I  '11  try  to  get  a  little  sleep  as  we  travel." 

"Just  as  you  please,  Truetell." 

Selecting  a  place  in  the  rear  of  the  car,  Bill  crouched 
on  the  cushion,  pressing  his  knees  against  the  seat  in 
front,  and  with  his  hat  pulled  low  on  his  forehead  and 
his  overcoat  collar  turned  high  about  his  neck,  he 
composed  himself  for  the  journey.  He  closed  his 

[266] 


MAKING  HIS     'LAST  JUMP' 

eyes,  but  he  did  not  endeavor  to  seek  forgetfulness  in 
slumber.     He  felt  he  could   never  sleep   again  until 


WITH  HIS  HAT  PULLED  Low  ON  HIS  FOREHEAD,  AND  HIS 
OVERCOAT  COLLAR  TURNED  HIGH  ABOUT  HIS  NECK  " 


his  lids  veiled  his  weary  eyes  forever.  Ever  since  the 
news  of  the  departure  of  the  little  Van  Balken  and 
the  young  actor  had  been  so  rudely  imparted  to  him, 

[267] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

Bill  had  acted  like  a  man  under  the  spell  of  a  hypnotist. 
He  moved  and  he  thought  mechanically.  The  world 
had  lost  all  interest  for  him.  He  indulged  in  no  more 
frantic  outbursts,  no  more  railings  against  the  inex 
orable  law  of  predestination. 

The  innocent  man,  hearing  his  death  sentence 
pronounced,  fills  the  court-room  with  his  protestations. 
The  criminal  accepts  the  verdict  quietly.  Conscious 
of  his  guilt,  he  has  steeled  himself  to  meet  an  unfavor 
able  decision. 

Bill's  preparation  for  the  doom  to  which  he  had 
condemned  himself  commenced  on  the  railroad  ties 
and  was  finished  behind  the  bars  in  the  black  loneli 
ness  of  the  Weston  jail.  The  brief  respite  from  his 
determination  enjoyed  before  Smolton's  announce 
ment  served  to  add  greater  strength  to  his  renewed 
resolution.  Now  the  die  was  irrevocably  cast. 

Only  one  fixed  earthly  desire  tenanted  Bill's  mind. 
He  yearned  for  the  solitude  of  his  little  hall-bedroom. 
It  had  been  the  port  from  which  he  had  so  often  started 
courageously  and  hopefully  on  venturesome  theatrical 
voyages,  and  it  had  been  the  refuge  to  which  he  had  so 
often  returned  beaten  and  crushed,  but,  till  now,  un 
dismayed.  It  was  the  fitting  place  from  which  to 
embark  on  the  last  journey  of  all.  Its  familiar  sur 
roundings  would  render  the  departure  easier. 

All  day  he  sat  and  waited,  hardly  changing  his 
position  while  the  train  sped  eastward.  His  com- 

[268] 


MAKING   HIS    "LAST   JUMP' 

panions,  believing  him  to  be  asleep,  respected  his 
silence. 

Early  in  the  evening  the  train  halted  at  the  Grand 
Central  Station.  Before  the  company  separated,  Bill 
forced  himself  to  assume  an  appearance  of  cheerfulness 
and  shook  hands  cordially  with  each  member. 

"Truetell,"  said  the  star,  "come  to  my  room  to 
morrow  and  we  '11  plan  for  a  fresh  start.  I  've  been 
telling  our  people  we  '11  be  ready  to  commence  soon 
again." 

"I  can't  meet  you  to-morrow,  governor,"  replied 
Bill.  "I  don't  seem  to  be  able  to  make  up  my  lost 
sleep.  I  think  I  '11  rest  for  a  day  or  two." 

"Very  well.  Come  as  soon  as  you  can.  Good 
night,  Truetell." 

"Good-bye,  governor."  He  squeezed  the  star's 
hand,  turned  quickly,  and  was  lost  in  the  waiting 
crowd  about  the  depot. 

At  the  lodging-house  on  Thirty-eighth  Street  his 
landlady,  wearing  a  plaid  shawl  about  her  shivering 
shoulders,  came  to  the  door  in  response  to  his  ring. 

"Good-evening,  Mrs.  Smithson.  Is  my  room 
disengaged?"  he  inquired  somewhat  anxiously. 

"I  've  let  it  to  a  party,"  she  replied,  "but  he  is  n't 
coming  till  day  after  to-morrow." 

"  That  '11  do  very  well.  I  '11  only  use  it  to-night. 
You  see,  I  'm  just  passing  through." 

"  You  're  allus  welcome,  Mr.  Truetell.     Come  in 

[269] 


BILL  TRUETELL 

and  shet  the  door.  It 's  gettin'  colder  every  minute." 
She  wrapped  her  shawl  more  closely  about  her  shoul 
ders.  "  Guess  you  '11  want  a  fire  made  in  the  grate." 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  'm  very  tired ;  been  travelling 
all  day  and  I  'm  going  right  to  bed.  Please  don't  let 
anybody  disturb  me." 

"  Just  as  you  say,  Mr.  Truetell.     Good-night." 

"Good-night,  Mrs.  Smithson." 

The  landlady  paused  in  the  hall-way  and  listened 
to  her  lodger's  footsteps  as  he  rapidly  ascended  the 
three  flights  of  stairs. 

"Guess  business  must  be  prosperin'  with  him," 
she  said  to  herself.  "  It 's  a  long  time  since  I  heard 
him  go  up  so  spry." 

Entering  his  room  and  shutting  the  door,  Bill  at 
once  began  a  critical  examination  of  the  window 
sashes,  holding  his  hand  at  the  crevices  where  he  could 
feel  the  cold  air  coming  in.  The  spaces  above  and 
beneath  the  door  also  claimed  his  serious  attention. 
He  carefully  studied  the  gas  bracket  above  his  bed. 
The  general  conditions  were  not  satisfactory.  He 
sat  down  to  plan  how  to  obviate  the  possibility  of 
any  mistake. 

"  There  must  n't  be  any  bungling  in  making  this 
jump,"  was  his  mental  resolve. 

He  noted  more  critically  than  before  the  gas  fixture, 
the  bed  directly  beneath  it,  and  the  distance  inter 
vening.  It  would  n't  be  such  a  simple  matter,  after 

[270] 


MAKING   HIS     'LAST  JUMP' 

all.  His  poor  brain,  which  had  so  often  worried  itself 
over  the  problem  of  remaining  on  earth,  was  now 
worrying  itself  over  the  surest  way  to  leave  it. 

The  vexatious  question  was  soon  answered,  how 
ever,  and  a  definite  plan  decided  upon.  Opening  his 
door,  Bill  descended  the  stairs  noiselessly  to  the  street, 
leaving  the  hall  door  unlocked  to  insure  a  quiet  return. 
He  walked  to  Eighth  Avenue  and  continued  on  that 
thoroughfare  for  several  blocks  up  town  until  he  came 
to  "Slater's,"  the  shop  of  a  "property"  dealer,  an  old 
acquaintance,  who  greeted  him  warmly  as  he  entered. 

"Old  man,"  said  Bill,  "I  want  you  to  lend  me 
about  two  feet  of  rubber  tubing." 

"Lending  don't  pay  rent,  Truetell." 

"This  is  the  last  time  I  '11  borrow  from  you." 

"  If  that 's  the  case,  you  're  going  to  quit  the  show 
business." 

"  You  've  called  the  turn.  I  'm  going  to  quit  the 
show  business." 

"Got  something  better,  I  suppose?" 

"  Yes,  a  great  deal  better.  But  I  can't  tell  you  about 
it  now.  It 's  a  secret." 

"I'll  bet  I  can  guess." 

Bill  started  involuntarily.  "Well,  what  is  it?"  he 
asked. 

"  You  're  working  on  a  new  lighting  effect  for  drop 
lamps,"  said  Slater  knowingly. 

"You're  pretty  wise." 

[271] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

"Wisdom  's  my  long  suit.  Yes;  I  '11  lend  you  the 
tubing,  and  I  hope  it  will  help  you  to  get  something 
good.  You  've  been  against  a  lot  of  tough  luck, 
Truetell,  and  now  it 's  up  to  you  to  make  a  strike. 
Turn  the  laugh  on  the  fellows  that  are  knocking  you 
all  the  time.  Show  them  you  're  not  a  dead  one." 

Bill  smiled  faintly.     "I  'm  not  a  dead  one  —  yet." 

Slater  rummaged  about  under  his  counter  and 
reappeared  with  the  tubing,  which  he  handed  to 
Bill. 

"  Thanks  very  much.  By  the  way,  sorry  to  trouble 
you  further,  but  will  you  wrap  it  up  for  me, —  in  an  old 
newspaper  or  anything  you  've  got  handy  ?  " 

"  You  're  getting  mighty  particular.  The  new 
scheme  must  look  pretty  good  to  you.  Well,  here  you 
are." 

Bill  took  the  paper-covered  parcel  that  Slater  pre 
pared  and  shoved  it  in  his  overcoat  pocket. 

"Before  you  go,  Mr.  Inventor,"  continued  the 
property  dealer,  "  I  suppose  you  '11  condescend  to  tell 
me  when  you  '11  return  the  tubing." 

"I'll  send  it  to  you  to-morrow,  sure." 

"  Bring  it  around  yourself.  I  want  to  talk  with  you 
again  about  your  new  pipe  dream." 

"  I  will  if  possible.  Anyhow,  I  '11  see  that  you  get 
it  all  right.  Good-night,  old  man." 

The  rest  must  be  done  quickly.  Nothing  now  should 
prevent  a  swift  and  sure  fulfilment  of  his  purpose. 

[272] 


MAKING   HIS     'LAST  JUMP' 

Five  or  six  minutes'  rapid  walking  down  the  avenue 
brought  him  to  Thirty-eighth  Street. 

As  he  was  turning  the  corner  he  received  a  shock  of 
delight  that  held  him  transfixed  and  set  his  heart  beat 
ing  a  joyous  tattoo  in  his  breast.  A  girl  with  the  fa 
miliar  figure  of  the  little  Van  Balken  was  walking  down 
Thirty-eighth  Street,  about  half  a  block  distant.  She 
was  approaching  him  in  the  timid,  shrinking  fashion 
that  had  captivated  him  from  the  beginning.  The  sight 
thrilled  him  as  he  was  never  thrilled  before.  He  could 
cry  aloud  in  his  exultation.  Dodd  was  not  with  her. 
She  was  alone  and  coming  to  him ! 

Bill  waited  for  her  as  the  soldier  dying  of  fever 
waits  for  the  cup  of  cold  water  to  be  held  to  his  lips. 
The  figure  came  nearer  and  he  saw  her  features.  The 
cup  fell  to  the  ground,  and  was  shattered.  It  was  not 
his  protegee.  It  was  a  faded  derelict  of  the  streets. 

"Good-evening,  dearie,"  said  the  girl,  a  sickly 
smile  outlining  itself  on  her  painted  face.  "Be  you 
waitin'  for  me?" 

Bill  shuddered  and  hastened  on  to  his  lodging- 
house.  Regaining  his  room,  he  locked  the  door  and 
set  to  work  on  the  final  details  without  a  moment's 
hesitation.  Undoing  the  parcel,  he  tore  the  paper 
cover  into  strips,  which  he  carefully  stuffed  into  the 
crevices  about  the  window  and  door. 

An  examination  of  the  gas-burner  showed  that  the 
connection  with  the  tubing  would  be  a  simple  process, 

[273] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

but  on  comparing  the  length  of  the  rubber  pipe  with 
the  distance  between  the  bracket  and  the  bed,  Bill  dis 
covered  he  had  made  a  miscalculation.  The  lower  end 
of  the  tubing  fell  a  foot  short  of  the  pillow.  He  could 
not  lengthen  the  rubber,  but  he  could  and  did  raise  the 
pillow  to  the  requisite  height  by  rolling  up  his  overcoat 
and  placing  it  underneath. 

He  was  about  to  extinguish  the  light  and  attach  the 
tubing,  when  he  remembered  his  promise  to  Slater. 
Going  to  the  table  he  sat  down  and  wrote  the  following: 

MRS.  SMITHSON, —  Sorry  to  cause  you  this  trouble. 
Please  notify  the  police.  There  will  be  no  need  of  a 
coroner's  services,  for  this  is  a  plain  case.  Kindly 
return  the  rubber  tubing  to  Slater's,  Eighth  Avenue. 
This  is  important.  W.  TRUETELL. 

Standing  up,  he  paused  for  a  moment  before  the 
little  discolored  mirror.  To  his  surprise  the  image  he 
saw  reflected  was  peaceful  and  resigned.  There  were 
no  furrows  on  its  forehead,  and  the  calm  face  bore  no 
sign  of  disapproval  of  the  step  he  was  about  to  take. 

Putting  out  the  light,  Bill  carefully  affixed  the  rub 
ber  pipe  to  the  burner.  Then,  having  turned  on  the  gas  to 
its  full  strength  he  reclined  on  the  bed  and  applied  the 
end  of  the  tube  to  his  lips,  inhaling  deeply  and  eagerly. 

A  slight  giddiness  was  his  first  sensation.  This  was 
succeeded  by  a  delicious  sense  of  languor.  Soon  he 
grew  cold  and  motionless. 

[274] 


CHAPTER  XXIV7 

BILL  IN  HEAVEN 


fT^HE   spirit  of    Bill   Truetell,   released  from  its 

earthly  tenement,   took  wing,  and,  leaving  the 

little    hall-bedroom,    flew    higher  and   higher, 

passing   the  clouds   and  the  stars  into  the  uttermost 

regions  of  ethereal  space. 

The  journey  lasted  several  centuries.  At  least, 
that  was  the  impression  conveyed  to  the  remnant  of 
subconsciousness  possessed  by  the  late  manager  and 
present  aerial  tourist.  To  him  it  seemed  as  if  the 
voyage  would  be  endless.  Bereft  of  all  physical  sen 
sation,  he  had  become  an  intangible  entity  whirling 
with  incredible  velocity  in  a  certain  definite  course,  the 
destination  of  which  Bill  was  not  yet  able  to  anticipate 
through  any  process  of  spiritualized  reasoning. 

"I'm  dead,  all  right,"  was  his  subconscious  idea; 
"but  where  am  I  booked?" 

During  his  mundane  existence  Bill  had  never  pro 
fessed  any  religious  creed.  He  had  never  seriously 
meditated  on  the  punishments  or  rewards  of  an  after 
life.  His  indifference  regarding  the  hereafter  was  not 
due  to  any  anti-religious  sentiment  inborn,  or  acquired. 

[275] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

It  was  caused  principally  by  his  lack  of  leisure. 
Throughout  his  life  he  had  been  so  busy  undergoing 
the  penalties  of  non-success  that  he  had  had  no  time 
to  concern  himself  with  the  punishments  of  another 
world.  The  punishments  of  the  mortal  world  engrossed 
his  entire  attention.  If  forced  to  a  confession  of  faith 
on  this  particular  point,  he  would  probably  have  ad 
vanced  the  belief  that  if  hell  existed  anywhere  it  was 
on  earth  in  the  show  business.  And  if  there  were  any 
rewards  in  heaven  for  people  who  suffered  on  earth  he 
was  entitled  by  every  right  to  a  generous  share.  But 
such  joys  were  altogether  too  remote  for  his  human 
consideration. 

When  he  turned  on  the  gas  in  his  hall-bedroom 
and  took  the  rubber  tubing  between  his  lips  he  had  no 
expectation  whatever  of  an  after  existence.  He  firmly 
believed  he  was  putting  an  end  to  everything  present 
or  future  in  the  life  of  Bill  Truetell. 

Now  he  knew  his  mistake.  He  had  a  soul.  It  was 
immortal.  It  was  winging  its  flight  either  to  Paradise 
or  to  Hades. 

As  the  centuries  rolled  on  his  subconsciousness 
developed  in  perspicacity.  He  realized  the  question 
of  reward  or  punishment  in  the  hereafter  must  be 
treated  with  all  seriousness,  especially  since  the  here 
after  had  become  the  present.  The  matter  was  now 
purely  personal  and  would  soon  be  decided.  What 
would  be  the  verdict  in  his  case? 

[276] 


BILL   IN   HEAVEN 

Bill  recalled  the  doctrine  that  the  determination  of 
eternal  pain  or  happiness  depended  altogether  on  the 
conduct  of  a  person  on  earth.  Immediately,  his  mor 
tal  life  unfolded  itself  like  a  book  before  his  spiritual 
vision.  The  record  was  not  reassuring.  If  he  could 
live  his  life  over  again!  Repentance  came  too  late. 
Judgment  had  been  passed  on  him  according  to  his 
earthly  deserts.  He  was  speeding  to  one  of  two  goals, 
powerless  to  alter  the  direction.  He  must  await  his 
fate  in  awful  apprehension.  Meanwhile  the  centuries 
continued  their  ceaseless  rolling. 

After  countless  ages  had  elapsed,  Bill's  spirit,  keenly 
alert  and  eager  for  any  sign  indicative  of  its  fate,  be 
came  slowly  conscious  of  the  sensation  of  music.  A 
clear,  male  voice  appeared  to  be  singing  thousands  of 
miles  away.  Gradually  the  notes  became  more  audible, 
until  he  could  distinguish  the  words : 

"  We  shall  gather  at  the  river, 
The  beautiful,  beautiful  river." 

"  That  sounds  good  to  me,"  thought  the  late  show 
man.  "  Perhaps  I  'm  headed  for  the  right  place  after 
all." 

The  hymn  ceased,  and  simultaneously  Bill's  spirit 
stopped  flying.  What  had  happened  ?  Which  goal 
had  he  reached  ?  If  he  could  only  open  his  eyes  and  see ! 
His  will  power  was  ready  for  the  effort,  but  his  optical 
sense  did  not  respond.  Summoning  all  his  strength 

[277] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

he  tried  again.  This  time  the  exertion  resulted  in  a 
slight  pain.  His  eyelids  fluttered  a  little  apart.  What 
he  saw  filled  his  subconsciousness  with  transport. 
Although  his  vision  was  blurred  and  indistinct,  the 
impression  upon  it  was  of  general  whiteness.  Above 
him  and  on  either  side  the  effect  was  of  pure  white,  and 
consequently  in  perfect  accord  with  all  his  precon 
ceived  notions  of  the  color  of  the  celestial  regions. 

As  if  to  add  verisimilitude  to  the  conception  the 
clear- voiced  singer  intoned : 

"  We  '11  have  peace  on  that  Beautiful  Shore." 

"It's  Heaven  for  mine!"  was  Bill's  ecstatic  con 
clusion. 

While  he  was  revelling  in  this  blissful  contemplation 
a  figure  bent  over  him.  It  was  garbed  entirely  in  blue, 
dotted  here  and  there  with  circular  golden  spots. 

"One  of  the  angels,"  soliloquized  the  happy  shade 
of  the  late  manager  of  the  Steelson  Company. 

As  the  figure  bent  lower  and  Bill's  vision  grew 
clearer,  the  garb  of  blue  resolved  itself  into  a  uniform, 
and  the  circular  golden  spots  into  brass  buttons. 

"  I  've  made  a  horrible  mistake,"  quaked  Bill. 
"  They  don't  need  policemen  in  Heaven.  I  've  landed 
at  the  other  end  of  the  route!" 

"  You  vas  alive,  yes  ?  "  said  the  apparition  in  blue, 
with  an  unmistakably  German  accent. 

Bill  muttered  feebly,  "Where  am  I?" 

[278  ] 


BILL   IN   HEAVEN 

"You  vas  in  the  emergencies  vard  of  Bellevue 
hosbidals." 

"  How  did  I  get  here  ?  "  he  groaned. 

"You  vas  carried  here  last  night.  Folks  in  your 
house  smelt  de  gas  yoost  in  dime.  De  captain  sent 
me  dis  morning  to  see  how  you  vas.  If  you  get  bed- 
der  you'll  be  tried  for  addembding  suicides." 

Enfeebled  by  the  effects  of  the  gas  and  his  long 
spiritual  journey,  Bill's  mind  could  not  grasp  the  entire 
situation  at  once.  To  overcome  one  delusion  he  looked 
again  at  the  white  ceiling  and  walls  that  he  had  just 
mistaken  for  celestial  brightness.  Another  important 
element  remained  to  be  explained. 

"  Officer,"  he  asked,  "  has  anybody  about  here  been 
doing  a  musical  turn  ?  " 

The  policeman  grinned  to  the  capacity  of  his  full- 
moon  face. 

"  Dat  vas  a  Salvationer  in  the  next  vards.  He 
got  mixed  up  mit  an  oddomobeels,  and  he  has  vat  you 
call  deliriums  in  his  brains." 

"  Thank  you,  "  Bill  wearily  responded.  He  closed 
his  eyes  and  straightway  became  the  prey  of  torturing 
reflections.  Why  was  he  not  allowed  to  die?  Why 
was  he  condemned  to  renew  his  life's  struggles? 
There  was  no  hope  for  him  in  life.  His  existence  had 
been  one  long,  continuous  failure,  and  his  attempt  to 
put  an  end  to  it  had  been  a  failure  also !  Unsuccessful 
in  living,  he  had  been  unsuccessful  in  dying.  He 

[279] 


BILL   TRUETELL 

would  give  up  trying  to  live,  and  persist  in  his  attempts 
to  die  until  the  end  really  came.  Next  time  he  would 
make  surer  work  of  it.  A  leap  from  a  ferry-boat  on  a 
dark  night,  and  all  would  soon  be  over.  If  he  had  only 
done  so  this  time  he  would  have  been  spared  this  mis 
erable  fiasco.  If  he  — 

"A  visidor  for  you,"  announced  the  policeman. 

Bill  opened  his  eyes,  and  saw  —  the  little  Van 
Balken.  She  held  a  tiny  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

"Oh  — oh  — Mr.  Truetell,"  she  sobbed.  "How 
could  you  ?  I  —  I  read  it  —  in  the  paper.  How 
could  you,  Mr.  Truetell?" 

"Don't  cry,  kid." 

"I  —  I  —  can't  help  it.  I  've  been  crying  ever 
since  —  ever  since  I  read  that  terrible  thing.  You 
won't  ever  think  of  doing  it  again,  Mr.  Truetell,  will 
you  ?  Promise  me  you  won't ;  promise  me ! " 

"  Kid,"  Bill  said  faintly,  "  I  did  n't  think  you  cared." 

"  Cared !  Cared ! "  she  cried  with  increasing  ve 
hemence.  "This  is  how  I  care  for  you,  Mr.  True 
tell  ! "  She  dropped  to  her  knees  by  his  bedside,  flung 
her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  kissed  his  parched  lips. 

"This  is  how,"  she  repeated,  kissing  him  again, 
"  and  this,  and  this,  and  this ! " 

Heaven  at  last  opened  its  pearly  gates  for  Bill  True 
tell.  All  the  rewards  of  Paradise  were  spread  before 
him.  But  the  sight  dazzled  him.  He  could  not  credit 
his  senses.  Inured  to  disappointments,  he  could  not 

[280] 


BILL   IN    HEAVEN 

realize  that  this  transcendent  happiness  was  really 
within  his  grasp.  Even  with  the  girl's  soft  arms  about 
him,  her  warm  lips  awakening  the  blood  in  his  own, 
a  skeptical  thought  took  possession  of  his  mind  and 
constrained  him  to  say,  "  Kid,  is  this  straight  ?  " 

For  answer  she  lifted  up  her  eyes  to  his,  and  he 
saw  truth  and  love  gleaming  through  her  tears. 

"  You  're  going  to  get  better  now  ? "  she  said,  half 
interrogatively,  and  altogether  sweetly. 

"From  this  moment,"  he  replied  with  animation, 
his  ambition  returning  with  one  bound.  "  I  'm  going 
to  begin  work  right  away.  And  my  first  contract  will 
be  with  you." 

"For  this  season?"  lisped  the  innocent  little  Van 
Balken. 

"For  life,  kid." 

"Ready  to  sign  now,"  she  made  answer,  giving 
him  another  kiss  to  seal  the  bargain. 

"But,"  said  the  careful  business  man,  "what  about 
Dodd?" 

She  patted  his  fevered  brow  in  a  pretty,  motherly 
way  as  she  soothingly  quoted  one  of  his  own  favorite 
admonitions. 

"Forget  him,  Mr.  Truetell." 

"Good  girl!"  ejaculated  Bill,  drawing  her  closer, 
"this  changes  my  luck." 

THE    END 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


RENEWED  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  IMMEDIATE 
RECALL 


LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-25m-6,'66(G3855s4)458 


N9  562246 


PS3503 
Brennan,  G.H.         R476 

Bill  Truetell,      B5 
a  story  of  theatri 
cal  life. 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


